


You Continue to Surprise Me

by redscrollsofmalec



Series: Great Library Prequels [1]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Angst, Character Development, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Prequel, Santi is besotted, Wolfe is antisocial, Wolfti, external conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscrollsofmalec/pseuds/redscrollsofmalec
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Wolfe had only one goal: graduate from postulant training and become a Scholar. Nowhere in his plans was an Italian boy with beautiful brown eyes and a dimpled smile.A Great Library prequel set during Wolfe and Santi’s time as postulants.
Relationships: Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Series: Great Library Prequels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625797
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long project I started back in 2019. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfe arrives at the Library having passed the entry test, not intending to make any friends. However, meeting Niccolo Santi throws Wolfe’s plans off track.

The weather was sweltering, with the gentle breeze rolling off the ocean the only relief from the heat. This came as no surprise to Wolfe, who’d lived in Alexandria his whole life. Yet being forced to stand outside with his fellow postulants, awaiting the arrival of their Scholar, was something he’d rather avoid. The group was huddled in the shade of an enormous statue of Horus. It towered over them in its blue and golden glory, making Wolfe feel even smaller than he was. He had been to this station many times before and knew what all the statues looked like. But staring up at the familiar stone face of Horus was better than engaging in conversation with his soon-to-be classmates. 

After a few more minutes of waiting in discomfort, a woman hurried over to the cluster of postulants. She wore the traditional black robes of a Scholar with a long dress of flowing silk beneath them. On her wrist was a gold band, an indication of her high status as a Scholar. All things going to plan, Wolfe would be wearing one by the end of this. That was the sole reason he was here. The band, and the position it represented, was what he would be fighting for.

“Good afternoon, young postulants. Welcome to Alexandria!” The short woman spread her arms wide and beamed at the sea of faces before her. “My name is Scholar Litsa Contos, but you may address me as Scholar Contos. This will be your home for the next two months, should you be fortunate enough to last that long. I have arranged a carriage that will take you to your residential quarters, Ptolemy House. Each room accommodates two and your names will be on a notice in the main hallway. Please take the rest of today to relax and get acquainted with one another before our regular timetable commences tomorrow.” 

Wolfe frowned at the news that they would have to share rooms. The last time he’d had a room to himself was back in the Iron Tower, and it would be nice to have a space to himself. He could only hope that his roommate would be decent, and not a snorer. Or a sleep talker. Or a bed-wetter. He’d unfortunately known all three at the orphanage. 

The carriage was just large enough to seat all of them, and Wolfe found himself unceremoniously squished between a girl of African descent and an Italian boy with tanned skin and dark, wavy hair. The girl promptly ignored him and turned to engage in rapid conversation with her other neighbour. The boy, however, smiled at Wolfe and held out his hand.

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met before. My name is Niccolo Santi.” 

Wolfe cautiously took his hand, not intending to make a friend, but not wanting to make an enemy either. “I’m Christopher Wolfe.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Santi said. “If you don’t mind me asking, what country are you from?”

“Here. I’ve lived in Alexandria my whole life.” Wolfe neglected to mention the Iron Tower.

“Then all of this mustn’t seem as strange to you. I’m from Italy so this is all very new to me.”

“I can tell.”

“Oh.” Santi seemed to struggle with finding something else to say. Wolfe spared him the trouble by turning to look out the window, signalling an end to the brief conversation. 

Ptolemy House was a square and practical building of grey stone that was settled in close proximity with the Alexandrian University. Compared to the grandeur of the University, it was rather drab and unassuming. The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the gates. Everyone raced to get out the door, leaving Wolfe to stumble off the carriage after them and try to shake some feeling back into his legs. The postulants were staring up at the University, as if transfixed. For most of them, it was their first time seeing it. They likely appreciated it not only for its beauty, but its symbolic significance. It was here where knowledge became power.

Wolfe didn’t bother standing around; he’d seen it all before. He was hot and tired and the only thing he wanted was some peace and quiet. He made his way towards Ptolemy House, hoping to get the bedroom to himself for a little while.

As Wolfe entered the cool, quiet building he felt some of the tension in his muscles dissipate. He was alone, save for the smattering of cleaning staff who were packing up their equipment.

He got the attention of the lady closest to him and asked, “Are the bedrooms ready yet?”

“Yes, sir. Just over that way.” She pointed towards a door at the far end of the corridor. 

There was a piece of paper pinned to the door, and on it were the names of all the postulants and their respective rooms. Wolfe scanned it until he came to his name:  _ Christopher Wolfe and Hahn Nassar - Room 6.  _ The second name meant nothing to Wolfe yet; he hadn’t met the boy before. The only name he would have recognised was Santi’s, not that Wolfe particularly wanted him as a roommate.

Room six was the third door on the left. It was plainly furnished, with two single beds, two sets of drawers and two small desks with stools instead of proper chairs. Wolfe figured the closed door to his left led to the bathroom; at least there wasn’t a communal one that they all had to share. 

Despite wanting nothing more than to collapse on the bed and not move until dinner, he restrained himself and began unpacking his case. He placed his clothes in the chest of drawers next to the bed by the window, thus marking it as his. Only after he had fully sorted his things and removed his boots did Wolfe lie down on top of his sheets. By now, he wasn’t the only postulant in Ptolemy House, and it was hard to ignore the voices that echoed down the hallway. Wolfe pressed his pillow over his ears to muffle the sound, a trick he’d used many times back at the orphanage. 

Moments later, the bedroom door banged open and in walked a tall boy, presumably Nassar. He had the dark hair and eyes and the tanned complexion of Alexandria, and was carrying a black leather case with the initials HN stamped on the side in gold. 

“Christopher Wolfe,” said Nassar, a smile that lacked any warmth playing on his lips. “I’d heard the rumours, but I wasn’t sure what to believe until I saw your name on the roster.” Wolfe removed the pillow from his ears and sat up. “How do you know who I am?”

“There were a bunch of rumours in Alexandria about the Obscurist Magnus’ son, and whether or not he would be training here. There were also rumours about you not having any Obscurist powers, which is why you aren’t holed up in the Tower like the rest of them.”

“People actually waste time worrying about me and my family. That’s pretty sad, if I’m honest.” Wolfe rolled his eyes and laid back on the bed. Soon enough Nassar would realise that there was nothing interesting about him.

“No, what’s sad is that you didn’t inherit any of your mother’s talent. What is the world coming to if the Obscurist Magnus produces such mediocre children?”

Wolfe took a deep breath, not wanting to give Nassar the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to him. “My mother is a powerful Obscurist and me not having any Obscurist powers doesn’t diminish that,” he said in a calm and even voice.

“Part of an Obscurist’s job is to breed. She failed at that by producing you. The Obscurists are a dying breed and if your mother can’t help save them then maybe there should be a new Obscurist Magnus.”

Wolfe couldn’t let that one slide. He stood up abruptly and faced Nassar, who had a taunting smile playing about his lips. “Say whatever the hell you want about me, but leave my mother out of it.”

Nassar seemed unfazed. “It’s not just me who’s saying it. Many people would like to see someone more suitable in charge of the Iron Tower. Your parentage won’t help you here, Wolfe.”

Wolfe didn’t bother replying. He picked up his boots and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him and cursing himself for letting Nassar get under his skin. He’d dealt with a lot worse than Nassar at both the Tower and the orphanage, but no one, not even Gregory, had dared to talk about his mother like that. She hadn’t always been the best mother to Wolfe, but she was the only family he had. 

There was a communal lounge in Ptolemy House where a number of postulants were mingling. There were lamps for reading, chess sets and  _ senet  _ boards that students could play, and cosy armchairs and sofas stacked high with cushions. Wolfe disregarded all of this in favour of reading a Blank in a quiet corner. After his conversation with Nassar, he didn’t want to talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Across the room, Santi caught Wolfe’s eye and waved at him. Wolfe wondered why Santi seemed eager to befriend him considering that he hadn’t been very polite in the carriage. He hesitantly raised a hand and waved back before returning to his book. Words were far less confusing than people were. 

Wolfe was pulled out of his page by the sound of the bell ringing for dinner. The long day had left him famished so Wolfe forced himself to join his classmates. He selected an empty table that was as far away as possible from where Nassar was sitting and hoped no one would join him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Wolfe raised his head to find Santi standing there, about to pull out the chair opposite his.

“Alright,” Wolfe found himself saying. 

Santi grinned and sat down. “So, Christopher, should I call you Christopher or can I call you Chris?”

Wolfe furrowed his brow. “I haven’t really thought about it before, I guess Chris is okay.” It sounded alright when Santi said it.

“So, Chris, you mentioned before that you live in Alexandria. Are your parents Scholars?”

“I grew up in an orphanage,” Wolfe said simply. He didn’t want to talk about his parents.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We can talk about something else.” Santi’s eyes were warm and sympathetic, which Wolfe appreciated, but he didn’t need pity. He looked down at the table and pretended to be fascinated by the woodgrain.

Neither of them spoke for a while and the silence grew more and more awkward. Eventually, Santi said, “The line’s much shorter now, do you want to get some food?”

“Sure,” Wolfe replied. That was the main reason he was in the dining hall.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what I said.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s fine.” Wolfe felt a tinge of guilt for not being honest with Santi. His parents weren’t dead, but on his worst days it felt like they were. Santi didn’t need to know that, but Wolfe didn’t want him to feel bad for asking a simple question. 

When they returned with their trays laden with food and wine, Wolfe decided to take the pressure off Santi by asking him a question.

“So whereabouts do you live in Italy?”

Santi seemed pleased that Wolfe had initiated this conversation. “Well we used to live near Naples and my family grew crops there. But then my father got a job building ships, so we moved up to Livorno. He received a good wage doing that and was able to hire tutors for me and my brothers. I suppose that’s how I managed to make it here.”

Santi’s life seemed so ordinary, a far cry from Wolfe’s turbulent childhood. “I never had tutors; the orphanage couldn’t afford them. But every day I would walk to the Library and read books to develop my knowledge. Becoming a Scholar is all I’ve ever wanted.” Wolfe had never told anyone about his goal before, save for his mother in writing. Not because he was ashamed, but because there was no one who would’ve listened.

Santi took a drink of wine before replying. “I don’t think I’d want to be a Scholar, I’d rather be a member of the Garda. I like learning about stuff, but I prefer a more practical application than just reading about it.”

Wolfe supposed that Santi did have the broad shoulders and square jaw of a typical Garda member. “If you like getting attacked by Burners then, sure, joining the Garda would be a suitable career path.”

Santi laughed. “Well no one likes getting attacked by the fire-crazed bastards, but I also don’t want innocent people to die at the hands of them.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be sure to mention that at your funeral,” Wolfe said in his usual, deadpan tone. 

“How nice of you to promise to attend my funeral. Will you also promise to cry?”

This time, Wolfe was the one who laughed. Perhaps Santi was quicker with a joke than he’d thought.

***

The sun had set long ago, and the stars were clear in the cloudless night sky. Wolfe should have been asleep, but instead was sitting on the front steps of Ptolemy House. Nassar was in their room, just as he would be for many nights to come, and Wolfe didn’t feel like going back inside just yet. Wolfe liked looking up at the sky on nights like these. He’d read several books on astronomy and enjoyed finding patterns and constellations in the stars. Back in the Tower, a chance to view the night sky was rare, and it was hard not to feel sorry for his mother. Despite being the Obscurist Magnus, she was as much a prisoner there as the other Obscurists. 

“I’m not surprised to find you out here.” 

Wolfe turned around to find Santi standing in the doorway. Not that he needed to look to know who it was; Santi’s Italian accent was quite prominent. 

“And why is that?” Wolfe crossed his arms over his chest, unsure of why he was feeling so defensive. He knew Santi didn’t mean any harm, but they’d only met today and were effectively strangers. Wolfe didn’t need someone overanalysing his every move when he just wanted to be left alone.

“You don’t like anyone in there, so you’re staying out here.” Santi left the doorway and didn’t wait for an invitation before sitting down next to Wolfe.

“Then doesn’t you being out here defeat the purpose?”

“So you’re saying you don’t like me?” Santi said without sounding offended. In fact, he sounded curious as to what Wolfe’s answer would be.

“I don’t know, I don’t even know you. Why are  _ you  _ here? Why not go back inside where there are people who are far more interesting than me.” Wolfe wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. At least the stars didn’t ask difficult questions.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Santi said, in lieu of replying to Wolfe’s questions. 

“What is?”

“The sky,” Santi chuckled. “It’s hardly ever this clear in Italy.”

“Well I’m sure there’s a lot of other nice things in Italy.”

“There are, but none of them are as uniquely beautiful as the stars.”

“I never got to see them in the Tower. I try not to take it for granted now.” The words were out of Wolfe’s mouth before he could stop them.

“The Tower?”

“The Iron Tower. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I used to live there before the orphanage.” Wolfe figured there was no real harm in telling Santi. If he wasn’t going to judge Wolfe for being an antisocial jerk, then he wouldn’t judge him for this. Also, Wolfe would rather he tell Santi himself than have him find out through someone like Nassar.

“Do you still have family in the Tower?” Santi asked tentatively.

Wolfe nodded. “My mother. And possibly my father, although no one has seen him in years. For all I know, he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Santi asked, “Do you know any constellations?”

“If you look over there you can see Orion.” Wolfe pointed to a row of three bright stars in the sky, hoping they would be easy for Santi to find. “There’s his belt.”

“Ah, I see. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d think they were just stars.”

“They are just stars.”

“Yes, but it’s more about what people can make of them. I suppose anyone could make a constellation if they tried.”

“Then why not try to make one up?”

“I think I’ll settle for finding existing ones.” Santi got to his feet. “But for now, I think I’ll settle for going to bed. Goodnight, Chris, and remember, you are an interesting person. Much more so than anyone inside.” 

“Goodnight, Niccolo,” Wolfe murmured softly once the other boy was out of earshot. He took one final look at Orion before heading back inside as well.

***

Wolfe slept fretfully that night; anxieties about the days ahead pulsed through his mind and prevented him from slipping away completely. When the first beams of sunlight peeked through the curtains, he got up and headed for the bathroom, hoping to shower before Nassar awoke. His roommate had been fast asleep when he’d returned last night, and he hadn’t stirred since. He didn’t snore, and Wolfe supposed he should be grateful for small mercies.

Wolfe tried to relax in the shower and let the streams of water wash away his nerves as well as the sweat and grime clinging to his skin.  _ Today is just going to be lessons on information I already know,  _ Wolfe rationalised. He could deal with lessons. Out of the shower, Wolfe dressed simply in a lightweight black shirt and trousers: his usual attire. He spent an unusually long time staring in the mirror, trying to make his hair look decent. Normally he wouldn’t mind that it hung around his face in an unruly mess. He even liked that it discouraged people from approaching him. But now, he settled on tying it back into a knot, and found that he quite liked the look. 

As Wolfe left the bedroom, the bell for breakfast rang. He heard Nassar shift in his bed and quickly closed the door behind him. The corridor was buzzing with activity as students made their way towards the dining hall. Breakfast was set up in the same way dinner was, although instead of wine, there was a large quantity of Egyptian coffee. Wolfe made a beeline for the coffee and poured himself a large cup. Once he’d drained over half of it, he filled a small plate with some fruit and a croissant. Most of the postulants were having breakfast by now, and Wolfe realised with a sinking feeling that there were no free tables. He scanned the room again, hoping there was a table he missed the first time, when he spotted someone waving at him. It was Santi, and he was sitting at a table with a boy Wolfe didn’t know. Not seeing any better options, Wolfe headed over to where they were sitting.

“Good morning, Chris,” said Santi as Wolfe sat down. It was obvious that Santi had just had a shower; his hair was damp and curlier than usual. “This is Jonas, my roommate. I’m not sure if you two have met before.”

“We haven’t,” Jonas said before Wolfe could. “Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand and Wolfe glared at it until he awkwardly retracted it.

“Did you sleep well?” Santi asked him.

“Not really.” Wolfe took a bite of his croissant.

“I suppose it is hard to sleep in a strange place on the first night.” Santi didn’t mention their late-night stargazing, which Wolfe appreciated.

“I had no idea we had to wake up this early, that’s going to take some getting used to,” Jonas said.

“I thought you might have been used to it from your fancy Korean academy,” said Santi.

“That wasn’t as bad as this.” Jonas raised his coffee mug to his lips and Wolfe got a glimpse of the cross that hung around his neck.

“You’re Catholic?” he asked.

“Yep, that’s why my name’s Jonas and not something like Yong-Sun.”

“I’m also Catholic.” Santi held up his own cross.

_ Great, another thing they have in common,  _ Wolfe thought. 

“My family would be so jealous of yours getting to live in Italy. Have you ever visited the Vatican?”

“Once,” Santi recalled. “It was… impressive.”

Jonas nodded with understanding. “You’re only Catholic for your parents?”

“I believe in God,” Santi said firmly. “The other stuff I’m not so sure about.”

The conversation steered away from religion and on to other topics, but Wolfe still let Santi and Jonas do most of the talking. He was contemplating getting a refill of his coffee when Scholar Contos entered the dining hall. She didn’t even have to clear her throat before a hush fell over the room. 

“Welcome to your first day of lessons,” she said, smiling widely at the room. “The first of which will be taking place inside Alexandria University. I will be escorting you there myself momentarily, where—” the doors banged open, interrupting Contos, and in ran a red-faced and dishevelled Nassar. Wolfe allowed himself a private smile; he assumed that the Library didn’t take tardiness lightly.

Contos gave Nassar a withering glare. “Yes, postulant?”

“Sorry, Scholar. I must have overslept, but I assure you it will not happen again.”

“No. It won’t.” Scholar Contos replied crisply. “Arriving tardy is not a quality we value here at the Library. Consider this your first warning, there will not be another.” 

Nassar seemed genuinely humiliated as he meekly shuffled to the back of the room. Wolfe would’ve liked to see him get more than a warning, but he doubted it would be easy for Nassar to get back in her good graces.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, we will be having a combined lesson this morning where I will be quizzing you all on some assumed knowledge. Do not be afraid to participate. Those who remain silent in my classes may soon find themselves going home.”

“First day and she’s already talking about people going home,” Santi said to Wolfe as they filed out of the room. “Seems a bit harsh.”

“I don’t think she cares about how harsh we think she is,” Wolfe replied. It didn’t sound too harsh to him. As long as he could answer Contos’ questions, he shouldn’t have to worry.

***

The interior of the University matched the exterior in its opulence. The ceilings were high and covered in intricate carvings and the windows were stained glass. Both retold key historical events in the Library’s history, with images depicting the conquering of Alexander the Great and the Library’s construction under Ptolemy II. It was sobering to stand beneath such instrumental figures. Without their sacrifices, Wolfe wouldn’t be standing here today. 

Scholar Contos took them to a classroom to the side of the main atrium. Only a few details distinguished it from any other classroom, most notably the mahogany furniture and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The desks sat two apiece, so Wolfe sat down alone, expecting Santi and Jonas to sit together. However, Jonas wandered over to talk to some other people, and Santi dropped into the seat next to him. 

“You sure you don’t want to sit with Jonas?” Wolfe asked, a touch of bitterness present in his voice.

Santi raised an eyebrow. “Do  _ you  _ want me to sit with Jonas?” 

Wolfe gave a reluctant shake of his head. 

“I think Jonas will do just fine sitting with someone else. You on the other hand…” Santi didn’t get to finish because Scholar Contos held up a hand to signal the start of the lesson.

“Now that we are all seated, let us begin.” She pointed at a student in the front row. “You. State your name and the date the Great Library was founded.”

The student jumped a little in his seat at being the first one she called upon, but delivered the correct answer. Contos continued to point at random students and ask them questions. The first ones were relatively straightforward, the kind anyone who passed the entry test would be able to answer proficiently. Even Nassar answered his correctly, earning a nod from the Scholar, but not a smile. She clearly hadn’t forgiven him for the breakfast incident. The questions began to get progressively more difficult, with postulants beginning to stumble through their responses, nervous tremors present in their voices. One boy confused Perera and Pieraccini when asked to list the first ten Archivists, prompting Scholar Contos to make a note in her Codex. 

“You.” Suddenly, Wolfe found her finger pointing directly at him. “State your name and deliver a precise definition of the Doctrine of Ownership.”

“Postulant Christopher Wolfe. The Doctrine of Ownership states that the Great Library must, for the protection and preservation of knowledge in trust for the world, own all knowledge. This hereby set a precedent for which private ownership of an original is illegal.”

“Very good,” said Scholar Contos, before moving on to the next person. Wolfe observed Santi’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. Santi also seemed impressed by his answer, which prompted a small smile out of Wolfe. A few questions later, Contos came back to their table to ask Santi a difficult question about the High Garda. Santi responded with enthusiasm and gave a much more detailed answer than Wolfe would’ve thought to give. It was becoming very clear that Santi meant what he’d said about wanting to join the Garda, and it seemed he was willing to put in the necessary work too. Wolfe could appreciate that sort of ambition, even if his was for a different goal.

Once Contos finished questioning everyone thoroughly, she stopped talking and took down notes in her Codex at a rapid speed. She then drew the class’ attention to a nondescript clay pot sitting on the front desk.

“Everyone except postulants Feinberg, Ling, Wolfe, Romaine, Hayashi, Camiel and Santi please form a line and select a token from this pot. The names I read out are exempt because they delivered the highest quality answers to my questions.” 

The rest of the class lined up silently, but the question everyone was thinking hung in the air like a heavy fog.  _ What were the tokens for?  _

“That answer you gave to her question on the Doctrine of Ownership was amazing,” Santi whispered to Wolfe while Contos was distracted. “No wonder she made you exempt.”

“You’re also exempt,” Wolfe pointed out. “And you answered that question on the High Garda much better than I could’ve.”

“Well, I mean… thanks.” Santi couldn’t say anything to deny that his answer was excellent. “If she’d asked me about anything else then I’d be in line to get a token now.”

“Lucky for you she didn’t. And lucky for me she didn’t ask me your question.”

“What do you think the tokens are for?” Santi craned his neck to try and see what they looked like.

“I’ve no idea. Maybe if you get a certain number of them you have to leave the Library.”

Santi considered this for a moment. “I suppose there are worse ways to decide on who gets dismissed.”

“Hmm.” Wolfe was only paying half attention as he observed Nassar adamantly explain something to Contos. Her expression was sceptical, but the fact that she was willing to hear him out didn’t bode well.

Wolfe’s gut sank further when Contos turned to him and beckoned him over with her finger.

“What’s going on?” Santi asked him.

“No idea.” 

“Postulant Wolfe,” Contos addressed him. “What is your response to Nassar’s accusation that you took an unnecessarily long shower and jeopardised his ability to arrive on time this morning?” 

Wolfe shot Nassar an exasperated look.  _ Really?  _ He expected better of someone who’d managed to pass the entry test.

“I showered for a reasonable amount of time this morning, Scholar. When I left for breakfast, Nassar was still fast asleep to my knowledge.” Wolfe decided that his best defence in this situation was simply to tell the truth.

“It seems then that it is your word against Nassar’s. Can anyone corroborate this?” 

“Actually…” Wolfe turned to get Santi’s attention. “I think I can.”

Santi narrowed his eyes in confusion, but didn’t hesitate to come over. “What do you need me for?”

“I can’t have taken such a long shower because I ate breakfast with Santi here. We also began eating well before you came to the dining hall, Scholar.”

Santi nodded. “That’s correct, Scholar.”

Contos faced Nassar with a cold fury in her eyes. “Lying to implicate another postulant is a very serious transgression, Postulant Nassar. If it were not for your father, I would send you home immediately. Now get out of my sight.”

Nassar pursed his lips and stalked off, but not without throwing Wolfe a dirty look.

“You too, Postulants. Please return to your seats.”

“What a bastard, huh?” Santi said when they were back at their desk.

“You don’t know the half of it. And he’s my roommate.”

Santi grimaced. “Let’s hope he doesn’t last long. If anyone doesn’t deserve to stay it’s him.”

When the last person in line had collected their token and returned to their seat, Contos called for everyone’s attention. She took out a pair of wooden dice from her pocket and rolled them on the desk. “All those with the number one or five on their token, I’m sorry to say that you are hereby dismissed. Please return to your rooms and pack your belongings. A carriage will arrive this afternoon that will take you to the station. You may have a few minutes now to say your goodbyes.”

Wolfe felt his body go cold with shock.  _ That’s how people got dismissed?  _ Several students let out gasps, with one girl even starting to sob quietly. 

“This method is an ancient and established way of ensuring postulants don’t become complacent, while still dismissing people fairly and without bias. I apologise for any distress you may be feeling. Those who are remaining at the Library will have the rest of today to study and prepare for the rest of the week.”

“Fate is not on our side today, look.” Santi pointed at Nassar who was smiling smugly, having clearly not been dismissed.

“What a bastard indeed,” Wolfe said. He’d almost prefer to be dismissed himself than continue sharing a room with Nassar.

“But that method of dismissing people, it’s so unfair. How can they have used it for so many years?”

“Technically it is fair, but I get why you’re annoyed.”

“Excuse me? I don’t see how getting dismissed by the throw of a die could ever be fair.” 

“There’s no favouritism involved, everyone who didn’t answer the questions well enough has an equal chance of being dismissed,” Wolfe explained. He didn’t know why Santi was getting so heated about this. He should be relieved that he didn’t have to take a token today.

“But some people should be dismissed over others. It’s not always fair to treat everyone the same. Imagine if you were in their position?”

“Well that’s life for you, isn’t it?” Wolfe bit back. “You get dealt bullshit for no reason and you just have to deal with it. Maybe if you’d experienced that before coming here, this wouldn’t be such a shock.” He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. But Santi looked at him like he’d just been slapped across the face and Wolfe knew the damage was done.

“Don’t assume you know what I’ve experienced,” he said with an icy voice. “And you can find someone else to be an asshole towards.” Santi walked over to Jonas’ table and left Wolfe alone with his thoughts. He wished he could take back what he said, but deep down, he knew it was coming from a place of truth. Wolfe had been dealt a terrible hand his whole life, from being kicked out of the Iron Tower to being bullied in the orphanage. He wanted someone who could empathise with what that was like, but Santi was right. Wolfe didn’t know what he’d been through himself, and he had no right to treat Santi like he was to blame for Wolfe’s shitty childhood. It  _ was  _ a cruel and unfair way to dismiss people, and he didn’t want to see Santi pick up the wrong token next lesson.

***

_ Tap, tap, tap.  _ Wolfe tapped his pencil on the page he was supposed to be reading in a steady rhythm.

“Can you not?” the girl to his left hissed. “Some of us are trying to study.” 

Wolfe dropped the pencil and folded his hands in his lap for good measure. On an ordinary day, he’d be the one to chastise anyone doing something so irritating. But Wolfe hadn’t been able to focus all afternoon. He’d just read the same paragraph five times over without taking a word in. The tapping was the only thing keeping him from constantly glancing over his shoulder at Santi, who was sitting on the other side of the room. Wolfe had never been distracted from his studies by something as trivial as an argument before. He didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps he did care about Santi’s opinion of him.

“You should just go talk to him,” the girl next to him whispered. When Wolfe narrowed his eyes, she continued, “I saw you two fighting at the end of the lesson. I can tell it’s bothering you, so you should talk to him. Then you might actually be able to study properly.”

That settled it, if even his neighbour could tell that he was worried about Santi then it was time to do something about it. This had to be resolved so Wolfe could move on with his life.

Leaving his codex on the table, Wolfe weaved through the sea of studying students until he was standing nervously next to Santi’s table. If Santi had noticed his presence, he gave no sign of it. Wolfe tried to get his attention by clearing his throat quietly in case Santi really didn’t know he was there. Santi didn’t pause his writing, but he did start to aggressively cross his ’t’s’ and dot his ‘i’s’. 

“We need to talk,” Wolfe whispered. This time, Santi did stop his work and looked up to meet Wolfe’s eyes. The intensity of his gaze was too much for Wolfe, who lowered his own eyes to the floor and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. 

“Not here, out there.” Santi nodded towards the corridor.

The heavy, panelled door closed behind them, giving the pair some privacy from the other postulants. Santi crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, inviting Wolfe to start talking. Wolfe opened his mouth, but all that escaped it was a strangled, and incredibly unflattering, sound.

“Is that all you have to say? You haven’t come to teach me more about how life is so unfair?”

Wolfe cringed, but he knew he deserved to hear that. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right, I don’t know what you’ve been through, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Also, the tokens are an awful way to dismiss people.”

It was difficult to read Santi’s expression, but he uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his sides, which Wolfe took as a good sign. “Apology accepted.”

Wolfe sighed with relief. “That’s good. Okay, now that that’s sorted—”

“I don’t get you sometimes, Chris,” Santi interrupted. “You push away the people who try to be nice to you, but I can tell that it’s not what you really want to be doing.”

“Well, I suppose you aren’t exactly wrong there.” Wolfe scuffed his foot on the floor, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. “With most people, I don’t care if I push them away. But you’re not one of them.”

“So why push me away?”

“I don’t know, because I’m not used to anyone caring about me?” Wolfe took a deep breath to steady his voice. “I understand if it’s not possible at this point, but I’m willing to try and be your friend.”

“Really?” The corners of Santi’s lips quirked upwards.

“Really. But don’t get your hopes up, I’ve never had a real friend before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Okay, Chris, I’ll be your friend.” Santi started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Wolfe felt his cheeks redden as Santi continued to laugh loudly.

“No one’s ever asked me to be their friend so formally before,” Santi said once he’d calmed down.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

  
  



	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfe and Santi grow closer as friends, they’re both presented with exciting opportunities, and Nassar stirs up trouble for another postulant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to post this. I know I said I wrote this fic back in 2019, but it's been undergoing some serious editing/rewriting. Trust me, it's much better now!

Days flew by amidst studying and carefully avoiding Nassar, and before he knew it, Wolfe had been staying in Ptolemy House for two weeks. Numbers had dwindled over that time from around thirty to eighteen postulants, but so far both he and Santi had been lucky. Last Wednesday, Santi had to draw a tile and Wolfe’s heart had skipped a beat. That part didn’t get easier. Wolfe hoped their luck wouldn’t run out soon.

The day’s lessons were over, and Wolfe was relaxing in the common room by reading a book on philosophy, partly in order to study the concept, but partly for pleasure too. 

“Hey, Chris,” Santi said as he sat down next to him. “Are you doing something important?”

Wolfe closed his Blank. “Nothing especially important. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to play a game of chess?” He smiled hopefully at Wolfe, which made the dimples in his cheeks appear.

“I don’t know,” Wolfe protested weakly. There was a reason he hadn’t suggested it himself. He was ashamed to admit that he’d never played chess before.

“C’mon, there’s a free set over there.” Santi paused for a moment, taking in Wolfe’s apprehension. “Do you not like chess? We can always play something else instead.”

“It’s not that exactly. I’ve just, err, never played it before.” He averted his eyes out of embarrassment.

“Wait,  _ never? _ ”

“Never had anyone to play with I suppose.”

“Well you do now,” Santi said firmly. “I can teach you how to play. I’m sure you’ll be a prodigy in no time.”

Wolfe was not a chess prodigy.

He got the hang of moving the different pieces easily, but chess strategy was a foreign and difficult concept that he struggled to grasp.

“Why did you move your knight there?”

“I don’t know, because your pawn was there?” Wolfe didn’t know why he was bothering to justify his poor choice of moves. 

“But my bishop was primed to capture it. Did you see it over there?”

“I guess not.” Wolfe tried to move his remaining rook to a sensible square to make up for it. Santi sighed and moved his queen.

“Checkmate.”

“That means you win, right?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh. I thought it would take longer than that.”

“So did I.”

Wolfe threw a pawn at Santi. “Hey, you can’t make fun of me. It’s my first time playing.”

“That’s true enough.” Santi retrieved the pawn from the floor and started to reset the board. “But you’re so good at everything else, I guess I thought you’d be amazing at chess too.”

“You have to give me more than one game to prove myself,” Wolfe said, watching Santi’s long, deft fingers dance across the board, placing the pieces in their proper places.

“Alright. Your move first.” Santi gestured at his side of white pieces.

Wolfe played much better this game. After several moves each, he’d managed to push Santi to the point of struggling with what to do next. Santi’s nose was scrunched up in concentration and he was biting his bottom lip endearingly. When he leaned forward to survey his options, a strand of hair fell across his forehead, and Wolfe had to resist the urge to brush it back in place.

“Chris?”

“Hm?” Wolfe blinked and realised he’d been staring. “Sorry, I’m with you now.” He assessed the board and made a move that would bring him closer to attacking Santi’s king. Wolfe sat back in his chair, a smug smile on his face, waiting to see how Santi would respond. Santi simply raised an eyebrow and Wolfe felt his confidence drain away. One move of Santi’s knight, and Wolfe’s queen was lying with the other captured pieces. 

“Not my queen,” Wolfe complained. “How dare you, I was going so well.”

“Technically it is possible to win without a queen.”

“Don’t pretend you think I have a chance of winning.” Wolfe scowled and moved a pawn one space—the safest move he could think of. 

“I can’t answer that, you’ll get angry at me,” Santi said. Wolfe turned his scowl onto Santi. “See what I mean?”

Wolfe let his face return to a neutral expression and began to fiddle with a bishop he’d captured from Santi.

“Look, it wasn’t a  _ bad  _ move from an attacking perspective, but you have to think about what gaps it’ll leave open for me to take advantage of.” 

“That’s my problem. I know how I want to move my pieces; I just find it impossible to predict your moves.” Wolfe decided against mentioning that this was likely due to him being bad at reading people in general.

“Maybe it’s because you’re more used to rote learning,” Santi guessed. “Sure, there are specific strategies you can learn, but there’s no way to be certain of your opponent’s next move. It requires adaptive strategy. Sort of like how the Garda operates.” Every time Santi mentioned the Garda, his eyes lit up. Wolfe thought it would be impossible to know Santi and not hope for him to be accepted into the Garda. 

What he said was, “Don’t bother kissing their asses when they can’t hear you.”

He was rewarded with a swift kick from under the table. “I’ll kiss whoever’s ass I choose, thank you very much.”

It didn’t take long for Santi to win the game. Wolfe had fought valiantly, but he was no match for Santi’s years of experience. He didn’t mind losing so much when Santi’s face broke into a triumphant grin, and then softened by way of consoling Wolfe for his loss. He then returned to philosophy, a topic he was much more comfortable with than chess. He settled back into his book, looking up occasionally to catch glimpses of the setting sun shining through the windows and turning Santi’s brown curls a coppery bronze. While the moment lasted, Wolfe was content.

***

Wine. Nassar and his friends were drinking wine. The more wine they drank, the louder they got, and the louder they got, the less Wolfe could focus. He was normally adept at blocking out distractions, but something about Nassar’s posh accent, made even louder and more obnoxious from alcohol, cut through his concentration.

Wolfe figured that if Nassar wanted to take over the common room, then he might as well move to the bedroom. Wherever Nassar wasn’t was, in Wolfe’s books, a decent place to be. On his way there, he swiped an unopened bottle of wine as a small dig to Nassar. The wine was an Alexandrian vintage, a tad strong, with a rich, smooth flavour, if the label on the bottle was to be believed. Wolfe wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur, he just knew how much it took for him to get drunk. 

Wolfe settled on his bed and opened his Codex. He briefly considered continuing to study, but knew it wouldn’t be very productive if wine was involved. There were the letters he’d sent to his mother over the years, neatly archived, but those would bring up too many painful memories. A safer bet was the folder of ideas he’d devised previously which had never progressed past the planning stage. Rough sketches of inventions and contraptions covered in Wolfe’s cramped handwriting. He knew none of them would ever amount to anything, but he kept them for nostalgia, and because one day they might serve as inspiration for something bigger and better. 

The bottle of wine was easy to open as it had a screw-top instead of a proper cork. He took a swig straight from the bottle; there was no need for manners when no one was watching. It was a bit too sweet for Wolfe’s taste, but was far from undrinkable. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and began to read. The first plan in the folder had been completed soon after Wolfe had arrived at the orphanage. None of the other orphans had wanted anything to do with him, and the staff were too overworked to pay him any attention. The only person that could’ve come close to being called a friend was the resident cook. She was a stout and sharp-witted woman who took a liking to outcasts and damaged people. Wolfe fit both criteria. She used to give him extra food when she thought he looked too scrawny, and when he wanted somebody to talk to, she was always willing to listen while she prepared the meals. Wolfe had seen how tedious kneading bread was for her, so he’d set to work creating a plan for a machine that would knead the bread automatically. He remembered showing her the plan with pride, and her pulling him into a hug and telling him that he was going to do great things someday. Wolfe felt a smile tug at his lips. He lingered for a moment longer on that plan before taking another drink of wine and moving to the next one. 

In a similar vein to the bread machine, there was a plan for a machine that would make a perfect cup of coffee at the push of a button. This one he’d made after his love for the beverage had blossomed, around three years ago now. The quality of the coffee at the orphanage had varied wildly depending on who was making it, and he’d hoped a machine might fix that problem. Of course, Wolfe didn’t have the means nor materials to build such a thing, so he was stuck with Mrs Atiki’s lukewarm, bitter brew on Thursdays. 

A soft knock at the door startled Wolfe. He hadn’t been expecting anyone but Nassar, who would never have bothered to knock. He put down his Codex and the bottle of wine, which was considerably lighter than before, and went to see who it was.

“Hi Chris,” Santi said when Wolfe opened the door. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other apprehensively. “Is it alright if I come in? Jonas is in the shower and—” a particularly raucous cheer from the common room cut him off. 

“Don’t worry, I get it.” Wolfe held the door open to let Santi in and closed it firmly behind him. 

“So, what have you been up to in here?” Santi’s eyes fell on the bottle of wine. “Oh.”

“I was looking through my old plans on my Codex,” Wolfe explained. “The wine was just a bonus.”

“What kind of plans?”

“You know, inventions, ideas, that sort of thing.”

Santi’s eyes lit up. “Can I see some of them?”

“Alright.” Wolfe was surprised by how ready he was to show his plans to Santi. He supposed he had alcohol to blame for that. Someone more ambitious and ruthless wouldn’t hesitate to steal his ideas and turn them into something profitable, but Santi wasn’t that sort of person. There was a distinct possibility that Santi was genuinely intrigued by the plans Wolfe had scribbled down in his Codex.

Wolfe smoothed out the sheets on his bed and motioned for Santi to sit down. He held out the bottle to Santi, not wanting to be the only inebriated person in the room. Santi started at it for a moment, then wrapped his hand around the neck and lifted the bottle to his lips. He grimaced when he put the bottle down.

“You don’t like it?” Wolfe asked.

“I’m Italian, I have high standards,” Santi replied. “But bad wine is still better than no wine.”

Wolfe couldn’t argue with that logic, so he retrieved his Codex and the blanket. He didn’t think twice before throwing the latter over the two of them so that it was covering both their backs. They were sitting so close together that it didn’t matter, but Wolfe started to wonder if it  _ should _ matter. He quickly brushed those thoughts aside. They were  _ friends. _ This was the sort of thing friends did. He could feel the heat from Santi’s body radiating against his side and tried to distract himself from it by opening the Codex.

“This is a plan I drew up when I was twelve,” he told Santi.

“ _ Dio mio,  _ is that a dog automaton?” Santi traced the lines of the sketch in wonder. “I can’t believe no one’s thought of that before.”

“They might have,” Wolfe admitted. “But I’ve never heard of one being made.”

“I’m surprised you thought of it.” Santi looked up and ran his eyes over Wolfe’s face. “I never would’ve picked you as a dog person.”

“I like dogs,” Wolfe said defensively. “I’d just like them better if they didn’t smell or shit everywhere.”

“Or die,” Santi said. “My family dog died when I was nine and I was devastated. I must’ve cried for days.”

“I’m sorry,” Wolfe said, not knowing what else to say in these situations. 

“It was a long time ago. But dogs are special. I’m not sure an automaton could ever truly replace them.”

“I think I just wanted a friend,” Wolfe said in a small voice. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Santi this, but Santi told him about his dog so he might as well return the favour and talk about his childhood. “I didn’t have any friends in the Tower. I was the Obscurist Magnus’ son, and then I was the freak without powers. No one wanted to go near me. Then I went to the orphanage and no one wanted to be my friend there either. I was still the Obscurist Magnus’ son, and I was still the freak with no powers. It didn’t help that I was shorter than most of them. Real dogs weren’t allowed at the orphanage, so I thought I might make my own instead.”

Santi didn’t say anything at first. He handed the bottle back to Wolfe, and Wolfe drank some more wine. He felt a slow warmth crawl through his veins and wasn’t sure if it was from the wine or Santi’s presence.

“You have me now,” Santi eventually said. “And one day you might have a real dog.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You know you didn’t deserve to be treated like that, right?”

Wolfe nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He knew the other children were wrong to bully him, but they were also right. He was the Obscurist Magnus’ son and he didn’t have any powers. He understood why they hated him for that, just as he understood why Nassar did.

“I can tell you’re overthinking it,” Santi said, a teasing edge to his voice. “But I’m not going to push it.”

Wolfe gave a noncommittal shrug, not wanting to concede that he was overthinking it. He was grateful that Santi wouldn’t press the issue further; he’d already gotten far too personal this evening.

Santi nudged Wolfe with his shoulder. “Why don’t you show me your favourite plan.” 

Wolfe hesitated, and then switched to a plan he’d dreamt up only last year. Santi bent his head to examine it closer.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I called it a ‘transferrer’. In theory, it has the ability to take something from a Codex and transfer its likeness onto a piece of paper. It’s very useful for plans like these, as you can make them bigger and annotate them easier. It would also work in reverse: take something from a piece of paper and turn it into a page in a Codex. Out of all my ideas and designs, I think this one has the most practical applications.”

“Did you ever find a way to make it work?”

“Not without the aid of Obscurist powers. Something like this has never been done before, so it would take a lot of experimentation. I never had the resources for that.”

“But if you were to be accepted into the Library?”

Wolfe smiled. “It’d be first on my list.”

“We’re supposed to be getting special training with Library members soon, according to Jonas.” Santi grabbed the wine off Wolfe and took a short pull.

“Not everyone gets special training,” Wolfe reminded him. “Only those the Library thinks have potential.”

Santi threw him a deadpan look. “So when you receive your special training, you should bring this up with them. I’m sure whoever’s training you will be very impressed.”

Wolfe didn’t share Santi’s unwavering confidence. There was no guarantee Contos believed in his ability to do anything beyond reciting learned facts in class, as much as he wanted to prove that he could. 

“It’s getting late,” Wolfe said. Santi rolled his eyes at the abrupt change of subject. “You should probably go back to your room.”

“Fine.” Santi threw his half of the blanket off and got to his feet. “But promise me you’ll think about it? You have so much potential, I’d hate to see it wasted.”

“I’ll think about it.  _ If  _ I get the training.”

Santi had only taken a few steps before he turned and went back to pick up the wine bottle off the floor.

“And I’m taking this.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t like there was much left in the bottle. 

“Goodnight, Chris,” Santi said as he closed the door behind him. 

***

By the end of the week, the number of postulants had reduced by two. One of them had been dismissed for pronouncing something in Latin incorrectly. Wolfe felt sorry for her as her mother tongue was Japanese, but he knew that there could be no exceptions. He’d taught himself Latin from books and was fluent by now, as was any Library member worth their salt.

Classes were over for the day, so Wolfe was spending his spare time in the common room, sorting differential equations based on how often he used them. Mathematics and engineering were closely related, so Wolfe took care to ensure his mathematical skills were well-honed. 

The door banged open and Santi came running inside. He’d disappeared after their final lesson and Wolfe had wondered earlier where he’d gone off to. He noted the huge grin plastered on Santi’s face. On most people it would’ve looked cheesy and off-putting, but somehow Santi wore it well. His hair was windswept from the outside breeze and his cheeks had a healthy glow to them. He locked eyes with Wolfe and made a beeline for him.

“Chris, guess what?” he said loudly. A couple of nearby postulants looked up from their studies to shush him. “Sorry.” Santi dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m going to receive specialist training from a member of the High Garda.”

“That’s great news.” Wolfe stood up to congratulate him properly. Without warning, Santi threw his arms around Wolfe in a tight embrace, knocking the breath out of him. The side of his face was pressed against Santi’s shoulder, and he could smell the cedarwood soap Santi used. Wolfe found himself lifting his arms to gently return the hug. It had been a long time since he’d been hugged by someone he cared about, and he had to admit that this one wasn’t so bad.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked first.” Santi pulled away and took a couple of steps backwards to put distance between them.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy for you.” 

The grin from before returned to Santi’s face. “It was such a surprise. Contos called me to her office after class and told me. I start tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll be out in the field getting attacked by Burners in no time.” Wolfe tried to smile, but his heart wasn’t fully in it. It was hard to ignore the growing jealousy inside which reminded him that he hadn’t received any additional training yet. Santi was far from the only one who had. Even Nassar would be receiving lessons from a Medica, along with a girl called Samantha. He had gloated to Wolfe about it some nights ago, likely to distract from his poor performance in their regular classes.

“Is everything okay?” Santi asked.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Santi frowned, then seemed to realise what was troubling him. “Don’t worry, they’re bound to offer you something. I meant what I said the other night; you have so much potential, they’d be stupid not to.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me. I’m not sure that Contos does, though.”

Santi was unperturbed. “Trust me, she’ll come around.”

***

It was still dark when Wolfe woke up. He checked the time on his wristwatch by the dim light of the moon. Four in the morning. With a soft groan, Wolfe fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep again. It was no use; his mind and body were too alert. Resigning himself to an early start, Wolfe crept out of bed and dressed quietly. 

Breakfast wouldn’t officially be served until later, but fresh fruit, bread and pastries were left out in the dining hall and could be eaten at any time. When Wolfe arrived, hoping to get a glass of water and maybe something to eat, he was surprised to find several postulants, including Santi, already there. Santi certainly didn’t look happy about the early hour. His hair was a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was sitting next to Jonas, who was resting his head in his hand to hold it upright.

“Why are you up so early?” Wolfe asked when he approached their table.

“Garda training,” Santi said in a hoarse voice. Jonas’ head slowly slid out of his hand and came to rest on the tabletop. Santi winced, but didn’t bother waking him. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t get back to sleep. So, Garda training. It looks like it’s already unpleasant.”

“I could do without the early mornings, that’s for sure.” Santi stifled a yawn. “But I’m sure I’ll get used to them eventually. As for the rest of it, we’ll have to wait and see.”

Wolfe nodded, then realised with a jolt that he may not be around to find out. If Contos didn’t think he was fit for any additional training, then she might not see the use in keeping him around for much longer.

“They didn’t even put out coffee for us,” Santi complained, eyeing his glass of water mournfully. “And it’s so early that I’m not even hungry.”

“Mm.” Wolfe was finding it hard to be sympathetic when fears of being dismissed had taken up residence in his mind. Luckily, Santi didn’t seem to notice; he had his own problems to deal with.

“Shit.” Santi glanced at the clock on the wall and downed the rest of his water in one. “We have to run.” He elbowed Jonas in the ribs to wake him up and dragged him out of his seat. “See you later.”

Outside, the sun was just peeking over the houses to the east, but the air still had a bite of cold to it. Wolfe shivered, then set off at a brisk pace, figuring that would warm him up. A long walk would hopefully clear his head and give him some perspective. 

He ventured down one of the main boulevards, which was lined with uniformly trimmed palm trees and lit by street lamps. Only the wealthiest residents of Alexandria could afford to live in this area. These houses were home to many Scholars, as they were close to the University. If Wolfe played his cards right in the Library, he might be able to live in one of them someday. He wouldn’t, though. He’d live further out of the city, tucked away in a sleepy little street. He valued his privacy too much to live on a main road. But right now, with everyone still asleep, Wolfe had the road all to himself. 

Walking in solitude, in streets he was familiar with, meant it was easy for Wolfe to get lost in thought. He picked up where he’d left off: on potentially getting kicked out. This time, it didn’t take too long to remember that he was still top of the class. There wasn’t an official list, but everyone knew it, even Wolfe himself. No one answered questions or wrote essays with as much accuracy or detail. Contos had stopped praising him, not because his performance had faltered, but because she had come to expect that from him. 

But that might be where the problem lay. Wolfe answered questions like he was going through the motions. There was no  _ spark  _ to it. The closest he’d come to a spark was looking over his old plans with Santi the other night. That’s what he’d always wanted to do. In the back of his mind, tucked away in a corner, but always present, was that desire to create. He had to admit it had faded over recent years when he’d turned his efforts to studying for the entry test and cultivating his Library knowledge. But it hadn’t disappeared completely. 

Wolfe doubted Contos even knew that spark was there.

Sometimes Wolfe wished he was as carefree with his passions as Santi was. Santi would tell anyone who’d listen that he wanted to be in the Garda. The closest Wolfe got to being open like that was making known his love for coffee. That night with Santi had been a rare moment of vulnerability for him. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or Santi that had allowed him to open up about the things he cared about. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

Santi. Somehow his thoughts had circled back to Santi. It was disturbing how often this tended to happen as of late. Wolfe supposed that Santi was the first friend he’d had in a long time, and he couldn’t deny that he was beginning to lean on him for comfort and affirmation. These needs had rarely been fulfilled during his childhood, firstly by the resentful residents of the Iron Tower, and then by the unsentimental orphanage workers. Since Nomusa (the orphanage cook), the closest he’d had to a loving figure in his life was his mother, whose maternal affection could be summarised in the form of infrequent and utilitarian Codex messages. He’d tried to lie to himself by saying he didn’t need anyone else, that he was happier on his own.

Santi was making it difficult for him to keep pretending that was the case. 

Lost in thought, Wolfe let his feet carry him to where they wanted to go. When he looked up to focus on his surroundings, he found himself standing near the base of the Iron Tower, a massive, onyx-coloured monolith of a building with walls of polished metal sheets, untarnished despite the tower’s age. Wolfe figured that his subconscious must have led him here, and he resented himself for it. Just standing in the shadow cast by the huge tower brought back unwanted memories. He hadn’t stepped foot inside for over half a decade and had no desire to do so today, not that he had any say in the matter. He wouldn’t be allowed back, not unless he could miraculously demonstrate powerful, unearthed Obscurist powers, in which case he would earn a collar around his neck and not be allowed to ever leave again.

Despite his sour feelings toward the place, Wolfe couldn’t resist looking up at the upper levels, where his mother would most likely be. He hadn’t seen her in several years and wondered if she still had that sheet of black hair and the smooth, brown skin that masked her age so well. He was hit by a sudden urge to race inside, rules be damned, and find her. Thankfully the impulse ended quickly, leaving him with the stark reminder that she’d never cared to seek him out herself. With that conviction weighing heavy on his mind, Wolfe turned and retraced his steps back to Ptolemy House and his current life. He needed to leave the past where it belonged.

A High Garda soldier was waiting outside Ptolemy House. Wolfe was halfway up the front steps when the soldier stopped him.

“I didn’t have any classes this morning, I’m allowed to go for a walk.”

“It’s not that,” the soldier replied. “You’re wanted in Scholar Contos’ office. I’m to escort you there.” Wolfe raised his eyebrow, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

“Did she say why?”

“No.” The soldier started walking and Wolfe hurried to keep up. He followed the soldier to the University. The soldier flashed his wristband at the Automata guarding the entrance and the lions let them pass without any trouble. Wolfe was taken up several flights of stairs, into a section of the University he’d never seen before. He was led down a long corridor with doors lining both sides. They stopped in front of a door with a gold plaque that read Scholar Litsa Contos above a knocker carved to look like a swan. The soldier used the knocker to knock twice, and then stood back from the door respectfully.

“You may enter.” Wolfe heard the faint sound of Contos’ voice coming from inside. He looked at the soldier, who jerked his head towards the door, telling Wolfe to open it. Wolfe did, slowly, and stepped into the office.

It wasn’t a large room, but it was adorned with luxurious furnishings and bookshelves overflowing with books. There were originals there, not just Blanks, and they carried the faint smell of leather and glue bindings. Scholar Contos was sitting at her desk, her black hair scraped back into a tight bun and reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. 

“Please have a seat, Postulant Wolfe.” She gestured towards the chair opposite her. 

Wolfe sat down. The chair was comfortable, but he wouldn’t let himself get comfortable in it until he knew what Contos wanted.

“I am sure you are wondering why I called you here,” Contos said. Wolfe nodded. “I am also sure that you are aware of other postulants receiving additional training alongside regular lessons, and that you are wondering why you have not yet.”

_ Yet. _ Santi was right all along, the bastard. Contos hadn’t given up on him. 

“Well I’m sure you know that this has not been due to your academic proficiency,” Contos continued. “Far from it. I held off at first because I wanted to know how best to support you. How to help you flourish, so to speak.” 

So he’d been partially correct. Contos didn’t know what he needed, not that Wolfe really did either.

She leaned forward in her chair. “What would you like to do, Wolfe? Tell me what you want, and I will do my best to make it happen.” 

“I want to join the Artifex,” Wolfe said before he could stop the words from coming out. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I used to want to invent machines, things that would help people. I think I still want to do that.”

“If that’s what you want, we can definitely work something out.” Contos smiled and opened her Codex to send a quick message. Wolfe sunk back into the chair, feeling like a great weight had been lifted off him. He would be staying at the Library—for the time being—and would be learning to do what he’d always dreamt of. All the hard work he’d poured into studying for the Library was beginning to pay off.

Contos’ Codex buzzed and she checked the incoming message. “The new Artifex Magnus says he would love to provide an experienced Scholar to teach a bright young postulant like yourself,” she told Wolfe. Her Codex buzzed again. “Report to classroom C on Wednesday at nine sharp for your first lesson.”

“Thank you, Scholar, this is a wonderful opportunity,” Wolfe said, meaning every word.

“I know you won’t throw it away, Wolfe. That’s all from me, unless there’s something you would like to discuss?”

“No, Scholar.” Wolfe stood up and smoothed down his shirt. He wondered if the soldier was still waiting outside.

“See you in our next lesson.” Contos picked up her fountain pen and began annotating some papers, giving him leave to let himself out.

The soldier was still waiting outside. “Good news?” he asked when he saw Wolfe.

Wolfe’s ears grew warm as he realised that he must look stupidly happy enough for the soldier to comment. “It was,” he replied, before making his own way back up the corridor. The first thing he had to do was tell Santi.

Wolfe made his way up the steps to Ptolemy House for the second time that day and had just walked through the door when he ran into someone. Literally. The other person was bigger than him, so Wolfe fell backwards and had to use the wall to keep upright.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Santi asked in a concerned voice. He placed a hand on Wolfe’s shoulder to help steady him. Wolfe shook him off gently when he’d gotten his balance and moved away from the wall.

“I’m fine. In fact, I was just looking for you.”

“What a coincidence, I was looking for you. I thought you might have gone for a walk somewhere.”

“You’re not wrong. But that was earlier. I’ve just come from Contos’ office.”

Santi’s eyes widened. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Yes,” Wolfe said, not caring that Santi could tease him and say ‘I told you so’. He just wanted to tell him his good news. “I’m going to be having lessons with an Artifex Scholar.”

“That’s amazing, Chris.” Santi was beaming at him. It was the same smile he’d warn when he’d told Wolfe about his Garda training. He was standing there, smiling earnestly, looking like he wanted to hug Wolfe again, so Wolfe did it for him.

This hug was just as nice as the last one, maybe even nicer because Wolfe initiated it. And because Santi whispered, “I’m so proud of you,” against the top of his head, which sent tingles down his spine. It would’ve been so easy to press closer, to sink deeper into Santi’s embrace and let himself be held by his warm arms. Wolfe forced himself to pull away before he could. He rolled his eyes, trying to seem nonchalant, but the smile on his lips was spreading, engulfing his face until it reached his eyes and made them crinkle with happiness.

Santi cleared his throat and started to rub the back of his neck. “I really am proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“But I’m not surprised. I knew you’d get something,” he said with a wink.

Wolfe rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, well, that means I’ll be sticking around to annoy you.”

“Lucky me. You will show the Artifex Scholar your sketches of the transferrer, right?”

“Still on about that, huh?”

Santi didn’t let up. “But you will show them?”

“Yes, alright, I will if it’ll shut you up.” Wolfe probably wouldn’t be pulling them out during the first lesson, but he would seriously consider showing the Scholar eventually.

Santi’s face relaxed back into a smile. “Good. Wanna play a celebratory game of chess?”

***

It was late when Wolfe returned to his room. He’d wanted to go to bed a while ago, but had found it hard to leave Santi’s company. Jonas had joined them at one point, and Wolfe had found that he didn’t mind his company either. Santi liked him, which probably helped. However, Wolfe still felt more comfortable when it was just him and Santi.

Nassar was already asleep, so he tip-toed to the bathroom to avoid waking him. He cleaned his teeth and washed his face quickly, before tip-toeing to his bed.

“I know you’re there, Wolfe. Stop sneaking around, you look ridiculous,” came a voice from the other bed. Apparently Nassar wasn’t asleep.

“Go to sleep,” Wolfe said shortly, tossing his blanket over his head in case Nassar felt like saying something more.

“You know Samantha?”

His question caught Wolfe off guard, and he pulled the blanket off his face to reply. “She’s the one in your Medica classes, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s the fat girl with short brown hair.”

Wolfe bristled. Only Nassar would insult someone’s appearance so flippantly. “You really are the worst.”

“She’s American. Did you know that?”

“Why are you asking me this? We never talk and that’s worked for us so far.” He had half a mind to bury himself in his blanket again, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him was curious. He’d never actually met an American before. “Why should I believe you?” he finished with. 

“She takes Medica classes with me. I heard it from her own mouth. She said she’s originally from New York.” 

_ New York.  _ “But that’s—”

“Really close to Philadelphia,” Nassar said, cutting him off. “And I’m telling you because people need to know. Even you. You might be a failure of an Obscurist and a pain in my ass, but I also know you’re not a bloody  _ Burner _ .”

Wolfe felt his breath quicken. A Burner, or even a Burner sympathiser, in the Library could do a lot of damage. But this was Nassar talking, and Wolfe wasn’t going to trust him unless he had some hard evidence.

“How do you know she has anything to do with the Burners?” he asked.

“She’s American for a start. That should be enough to raise suspicions. And when we were working with the Medicas, she started talking about different methods. Stuff performed by _doctors_. Imagine not only bringing up such primitive ideas when you want to work for the Library? I’d almost go as far as to call it blasphemous.”

“Again, why should I believe you? For all I know, you just don’t like this girl for whatever reason and are fabricating all this to try and take her down. It wouldn’t be beneath someone like you,” Wolfe argued. These sorts of accusations were dangerous. Spreading a rumour like this would badly defame Samantha, and possibly lead to her dismissal, or her imprisonment, even if there was little proof. No one liked to take chances when it came to Burners.

“Believe me, or don’t, I don’t care. But you might want to be careful. People tend to question why someone would bother defending a Burner sympathiser.” 

Wolfe understood what he was implying and hated it. “Why in Heron’s name would  _ I  _ be associated with Burners?” he spat.

Nassar rolled over onto his other side, showing how little he cared about any plight that could befall Wolfe. “Who knows, the world is crawling with them now. The truth is, it doesn’t matter why. All that matters is who you want to be loyal to. That’s all people care about.”

Wolfe clenched his jaw, refusing to say anything more. It was infuriating, but he had to concede that Nassar had a point. For the most part, the Library would act in a just manner regarding possible violations of the law. Their penalties were harsh, but fairly applied. However, when it came to Burners, the Library was known to have acted rashly. With their first priority being the preservation of originals, they tried to take a more proactive response to Burners. If Wolfe didn’t tread very carefully, he could find his reputation ruined before he’d even begun to cultivate one.  _ If any of this turns out to be true, the Library will deal with it,  _ was what he reassured himself with many times over before eventually drifting off into an uneasy slumber.

***

At breakfast the next morning, the room was buzzing with conversation. Wolfe hadn’t seen his classmates like this since the day they arrived. He had a good feeling he knew what they were all talking about, but he sat by himself and kept his head down, not wanting to engage with any of them. He could still hear snippets of their conversations, and the words ‘Samantha’ and ‘Burner’ cropped up often. When Santi arrived with Jonas, Wolfe assumed they must have some idea of what’s going on. He wasn’t wrong, the first thing Jonas asked was, “So have you heard the stuff about Samantha?”

“Nassar told me last night,” Wolfe said. “I don’t think he’s good at keeping his mouth shut, it looks like everyone knows by now.” 

“Are we really going to act like a rumour started by Nassar is true? He fabricated an accusation against you in our first lesson, Chris,” Santi said.

“That’s true,” Wolfe agreed. He’d thought about that last night; it was even more evidence that Nassar’s word meant fuck all.

Jonas didn’t look too convinced. “But a  _ Burner?  _ This could be serious.”

“She’s not a Burner. At worst, she’s a Burner sympathiser. And we have to be careful because these allegations could ruin her life,” Wolfe said firmly.

“I’m not saying we need to openly accuse her of anything. I just don’t think we should be in a rush to defend her either,” Jonas explained. 

Santi made an angry noise. “Nassar should be forced to withdraw his allegations unless he can produce some actual proof. Look at all the people he’s turned against her.”

“And they’ll turn against us if we defend her. It’s better if we stay out of it,” Jonas said. Santi frowned, but didn’t argue.

“The Library will take care of it if anything turns out to be true,” Wolfe said, mostly to convince himself. It didn’t stop a knot from forming in his stomach. 

All of a sudden, a hush fell over the dining hall. Wolfe craned his neck to get a better view of the doorway, where Samantha was standing. The air was so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. Samantha must have felt it too because the colour drained out of her face. Then the silence was broken by someone whispering. As more people joined in, it grew to a low hum, like the sound of a hornet nest.

“Is the rumour true?” someone called out.

“Are you really American?”

“Do you know any Burners?”

Samantha began to tremble and the tray she was holding slipped from her grip. She was moving before it could reach the ground, running towards the door as people continued to yell after her. Wolfe felt bile rise up the back of his throat. The glass from her tray had smashed, spilling orange juice and shards of glass across the floor. The whole thing was so cruel. Wolfe barely knew Samantha, but he knew she didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.

Santi stood up and left the dining hall, presumably to find Samantha and make sure she was okay. Wolfe would have followed him, but he felt glued to his chair, powerless to do anything that would help—if there was even anything that  _ could  _ help. After a while, Santi came back inside. 

“Did you talk to her?” Wolfe asked.

Santi shook his head, his eyes downcast. “I couldn’t find her.” He paused and dragged a tired hand through his hair. “I think she might have left.”

After breakfast was cleared away, a High Garda soldier, the same one who had escorted Wolfe before, entered the dining hall. He informed the postulants that their first lesson would be delayed an hour because of, what he called, an ‘incident’. While others were filing out of the room, Wolfe approached the soldier. 

“Take me to Scholar Contos’ office,” he said. “Please,” he added quickly. 

“Why? Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I just really need to talk to her.”

The soldier must have seen the urgency in his expression. “Fine,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “But make it quick.”

Wolfe lifted the swan door knocker and knocked it against the door. He was alone this time; the soldier had left after Wolfe had gotten past the lions. 

“Who is it? What do you want?” Contos’ voice sounded strained.

“It’s Postulant Wolfe, Scholar.” Wolfe opened the door a fraction and poked his head through the gap.

“Is this about the Price girl?” Contos didn’t stop writing in her Codex as she spoke. 

“Samantha?”

“Yes.” She put her Codex down and started massaging her temples. “Come in then.”

Wolfe closed the door behind him and hesitated before sitting down. “I just want to know what happened. Is she okay? Did she leave? Did the Library force her to?”

Contos held up a hand. “One question at a time. To start with, I doubt very much that Price is feeling okay given what happened this morning, and given the fact that she left the Library voluntarily.”

_ So she did leave,  _ Wolfe thought with a sinking feeling. “So that was her choice? The Library didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“Not directly, no. I certainly played no part in it.”

“But are they going to investigate her? I know who spread the rumours, Scholar, and I hardly believe they’re a reliable source.” Wolfe had no qualms with telling her it was Nassar if need be.

“Those rumours are undoubtedly unfounded. If there were any Burner suspicions in relation to Miss Price, do you think she would have been allowed to become a student here?”

“No.” Wolfe had forgotten that the Library did their own background checks. He really should never have listened to Nassar. “So all of them are false? She was never even American?”

“She does have American heritage. She left the country when she was still young because her parents disagreed with what America had become and wanted to protect her.”

Wolfe briefly felt a sense of relief, but that was quickly replaced by disappointment. “So does that mean she left for no reason?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” There was a profound sadness in Contos’ eyes. “You were there at breakfast. She had become vilified by her fellow postulants, her friends. I doubt she would have ever felt accepted or trusted here again.”

Wolfe looked down at his hands. “Is Nassar going to be punished for this?”

“Hm?”

“Nassar,” Wolfe said louder. “Will he be punished for ruining Samantha’s future?”

She shook her head. “I wish I could tell you yes. But I fear my hands are tied here. It’s all politics, disgraceful if you ask me. The Archivist has demanded we crack down on Burners, and that includes not discouraging people from coming forward with information. The way they see it, punishing Postulant Nassar for this would lead to people being reluctant in coming forward with allegations in the future.”

“But that’s not the same thing. I think people should come forward with proper allegations if they have evidence to back them up. What Nassar was doing was making them up completely for his own personal gain.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Well, not exactly,” Wolfe said reluctantly. Nassar would never admit that he lied, and Wolfe had no way of confirming that Samantha didn’t say those things about doctors during their Medica training. “But the original allegations got blown way out of proportion.”

“Unfortunately, sometimes life isn’t fair, Wolfe. Best you learn that sooner rather than later. I know that’s not the answer you were looking for, but it’s the only one I have.” Contos was trying to let him down kindly, Wolfe knew that, but it was hard not to feel condescended. He’d been told that his whole life.  _ Life isn’t fair.  _ Wolfe knew life wasn’t fair, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his part to try and make it fairer.

“Thank you for your time, Scholar,” he said in a flat voice. He left her office without bothering to wait for a reply.

**Text from the personal journal of Christopher Wolfe.**

_ Today has been the most eventful day as a postulant thus far, and not for any of the right reasons. The treatment of Samantha, by her fellow postulants no less, was deplorable. Burners are despicable, to be sure, but fighting them should not come at the expense of justice. Nassar is mostly to blame for this horrific mess, and I can’t say I’m surprised about that. He really is despicable, and I hope he gets kicked out soon. Contos might not be able to dismiss him for false allegations, but he’s hardly the brightest student so I’m sure she can find plenty of other reasons to do so.  _

_ Santi was also understandably upset by the ordeal, but that didn’t surprise me. I know how much he genuinely cares about other people; he would never have befriended someone like me if he didn't. I hope that doesn’t come back to hurt him someday. He deserves to care about the right people.  _

_ Speaking of Santi, our friendship is still going well. I didn’t think he’d put up with me for this long, but I’m grateful that he did. I feel like he might be making me a better friend, which is probably making it easier for him to put up with me. I’ve been more open with him than I have with anyone in a long time, but that doesn’t scare me as much I thought it would. I think I might trust him, possibly more than I trust anyone else.  _

  
  
  



	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons pose unexpected challenges, and Wolfe and Santi have to learn to trust each other. The past comes back to haunt Wolfe and Nassar enacts revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm back! Zoomiversity (see what I did there?) has started again for me so I'm sadly spending more time reading case law than writing fan fiction. But here's a new chapter, hope the next one won't be too far away.

It wasn’t until the weekend that things began to return to normal. In that time, three more postulants were dismissed, bringing their numbers down to fourteen. Unfortunately, Nassar, obnoxious as ever, was not one of them. Wolfe knew that it was because Contos’ hands were tied, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. He’d taken to staying in the common room until the early hours of the morning to avoid his roommate. It was hard enough not throttling Nassar while he was asleep.

The lack of sleep had been affecting him, Wolfe was forced to admit. The words on the page kept blurring together and he had to squint to make them focus. He’d been told to read this book by the Artifex Scholar during their session on Wednesday, but he’d already read it twice before. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he gave it a rest for the night.

“Okay, I’m off to bed.”

Wolfe looked up from his book at Jonas, who was sitting across from him. “Since when were you here?”

“Since dinner finished?”

Wolfe grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I got loads done without anyone to distract me. I should be thanking you.”

“Does that mean that Santi’s here too?” Wolfe gave the room a quick scan.

“No, he left a while ago. I think he said he was going outside.”

“Okay.” Wolfe stood up and fought the urge to rub his tired eyes. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t stay out too long,” Jonas called as he walked away.

Wolfe rolled his eyes and went to shelve his Blank. “I never _said_ I was going to look for him,” he muttered. 

Stepping into the air outside was like being doused with cold water. Feeling instantly more awake, Wolfe started down the path that ran parallel to Ptolemy House, hoping that Santi hadn’t strayed too far from their accommodation. It was hard to see where the pathled as it was poorly lit by the light that spilled out from the windows. Wolfe tripped over an uneven pavement that he couldn’t see and had to flail his arms embarrassingly to keep himself upright.

Glad that no one was here to watch him, Wolfe kept going. Up ahead was a courtyard, which was illuminated by a chemical glow sitting on a stone bench. In the light, he immediately recognised Santi. But Santi hadn’t noticed him yet; he was too busy performing a vigorous set of push-ups. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Wolfe’s eyes followed the beads of sweat that rolled down his back. Warmth flooded Wolfe’s cheeks and he averted his gaze. He wanted to clear his throat, announce his presence, but he also didn’t want to interrupt. Santi was focused and working at a steady rhythm. Wolfe didn’t know how long he’d been doing push-ups for, but he was willing to bet he’d done more than Wolfe had in his entire life. His arms and back told Wolfe that much; they were solid and toned where Wolfe was all sharp points and bony ridges. 

But now he’d been standing there silently for too long. Wolfe didn’t have to be an expert on friendships to know that secretly watching your shirtless friend work out bordered on creepy behaviour.

“Santi,” Wolfe blurted out, his voice high and squeaky and ridiculous. _Because that won’t make things more awkward._

At the sound of his name, Santi stopped his push-ups and got to his feet, brushing sand off his palms. When he saw Wolfe, his eyes widened. “Chris. What are you doing here?”

Wolfe fought very hard to keep his eyes on Santi’s. “Nothing. I mean, I was looking for you. And now I’ve found you.”

“Okay?” Santi didn’t look convinced. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” Wolfe responded automatically. His eyes dipped, just for a moment, before he caught himself and snapped them back up again. “Are you alright?” He cringed internally, his organs constricting themselves. All eloquence must have well and truly left his body and it was all Santi’s fault. He needed to put a damned shirt on.

Rather than being perplexed or amused by Wolfe’s strange behaviour, Santi let his face fall. “Since you’re asking, not really.” He sighed and retrieved a bundled up wad of fabric, which turned out to be a shirt. Wolfe tried not to look disappointed as he slipped it over his head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Santi, now able to focus on the issue at hand.

“Well first off, it’s kind of humiliating that you found me out here.”

“It is?” If anyone should feel ashamed, it was Wolfe.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be a secret.” Santi sat down on the bench next to the chemical glow and beckoned Wolfe to join him. “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of, y’know, not being fit enough for the High Garda’s standards.”

“Really?” Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “What kind of standards do they have?”

Santi snorted lightly. “High ones.” 

“Well you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Have you seen the rest of us? You’re by far the fittest. Strength-wise,” he added quickly, although it probably made things worse.

“Well, I don’t want to compare myself to them.” Santi was just being modest, but Wolfe didn’t want him to. 

“It’s true. I’ve never seen anyone do that many push-ups before.”

“Never?”

“Why would I lie? You know me well enough by now to know that I don’t just say things to make people feel better.”

Santi laughed, but it was half-hearted and strained at best. “I do know that.”

“So what’s really going on?” Santi was clearly still upset and Wolfe knew that it wasn’t just from embarrassment at being caught doing push-ups. As if anyone should be embarrassed about that. Wolfe certainly wouldn’t be if he was in Santi’s shoes.

“Well I thought exercise might be a good distraction, but it didn’t work too well.” Santi clasped his hands together and looked down at them. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last. Here, that is.” He seemed to be forcing each word out like they were causing him pain.

“Where is this coming from?” Wolfe asked. The sombre possibility of being dismissed did hang over all of them, but Santi was in a good position with his Garda training. Something must have happened for him to bring it up.

Santi shrugged, his shoulders hunched. “I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”

“Try me.”

“Okay. The truth is, I’m not as smart as you are. I barely scraped through the entry test, but I never really wanted to be a Scholar. I’ve been feeling out of my depth in class recently and I think Contos knows. Good thing she didn’t make us draw tiles yesterday because I know I’d be one of them.”

“Not everyone has to become a Scholar. You’re going to be a member of the High Garda and Contos should know that. And you deserve to stay here more than anyone else.” Wolfe hadn’t been feeling very charitable towards the other postulants since the Samantha incident, but Nic wasn’t like them. He’d tried to do the right thing, just like he always did.

“Just because you _say_ that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“We’ve been over this, I don’t say things for the sake of being nice.”

“I know.” Santi let out a shaky breath that could’ve been a laugh under different circumstances. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye to you, Chris.”

“I don’t want that either,” Wolfe said in a small voice. He couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen, couldn’t promise something that wasn’t in his control.

A beat of silence overtook them, in which Wolfe shifted closer to Santi until their thighs were touching, hoping it would bring him some comfort.

“I’ll be the family disappointment if I go home,” Santi said, his tone darkening. “My brothers all told me that I couldn’t make it.”

“Your brothers sound like assholes.”

Santi sniffed. “They are, but they’re family.”

“Sorry.” Wolfe winced; family was a complex subject for him too. It was understandable for Santi to have conflicting feelings about his.

Santi shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. I thought I could make a life of my own here. If I go home, they’re all I’ll have.” He sniffed again and Wolfe realised that he was crying softly.

“Then we’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Wolfe put an arm around Santi’s shoulders, trying to make it seem natural and not awkward. Comforting didn’t come easily to him.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.”

“Well I’ve always been shit at making people feel better, so let’s just sit here while you let it out.”

Santi let it out. He cried into the hem of his shirt while Wolfe traced small circles into his shoulder blade. Santi cried until he had no tears left under a blanket of stars. Wolfe held on to him, his heart clenched tightly in his chest.

**Text from a Codex message sent from Christopher Wolfe to Obscurist Magnus Keria Morning.**

**__** _Dear Mother,_

_I know this is unusual; I believe our most recent correspondence was nine months ago. However, this message didn’t come out of nowhere. I felt the urge to write to you after my friend (yes, I actually have one of those) reminded me that I do in fact have some family left. I know I don’t say it often, but there is a part of me that still cares for you. I hope you’re well._

_As for me, I haven’t been dismissed from the Library yet. My studies here are going smoothly and I was given the opportunity to train with an Artifex Scholar. I have taken to the work quickly and hope to explore it further in the future._

_I am expecting to graduate, all things going to plan. With my Artifex work and my grades, there is no reason why I shouldn’t. That friend I mentioned earlier, however, is worried that he will not be joining me at the graduation ceremony. I don’t know how to convince him that he’ll do fine. I’ve never been good with people, but you already knew that about me._

_I don’t expect you to take any interest in my life judging by previous messages, but in case you’ve had a change of heart, this should suffice. I’m not expecting a reply, so don’t bother to send one unless there is any sincerity to it._

_Your son,_

_Christopher._

***

Something felt different the next morning. Nothing had outwardly changed; Wolfe was drinking his coffee and sitting across from Santi like any other morning, but the feeling was definitely there.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Wolfe ventured. Santi had been very quiet through breakfast, and Wolfe wasn’t sure if that was a conscious decision or not.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Santi scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m not exactly proud of last night, so let’s just move on.”

“You know you have nothing to be embarrassed about?” Santi shot him a warning look. “Alright, we can move on from here.”

“Thank you.”

Wolfe drank some more coffee. It was lukewarm and unpleasant, but it was something to do.

“I heard we’re in a new classroom today,” Santi said, changing the subject.

“Do you know what we’ll be doing?”

“No. Contos is always tight-lipped about these things.”

“Mm.” Wolfe returned to his coffee. 

“Did you sleep alright?”

“I slept okay.” He’d only had a few hours, but in that time he’d managed to get some decent rest. Santi made a frustrated noise.

“Can we please just let things return to normal?”

“Haven’t they?”

“No. You’re being weird about it,” Santi said shortly.

“Not intentionally.” Wolfe huffed. What was he supposed to have said?

“Fine. I think I’ll take a shower.” Santi got up and took his tray to the kitchen. Wolfe knew he’d already had one this morning as his hair was still damp and he smelled like his cedarwood soap. He tried not to feel too offended; if Santi wanted space then Wolfe could give him that. He didn’t have to be happy about it, though.

***

The new class room was spacious and airy, with open windows and high ceilings. It was set up differently to their normal classrooms. Each person had their own desk, and atop each desk was a stack of books. These were originals, not Blanks. The leather bound, papery kind that Wolfe had seen on the shelves of Contos’ office.

“Please take your seats quickly and refrain from talking,” the Scholar called over the quiet chatter. Everyone else headed for the back rows, so Wolfe sat down at an empty front-row desk. Santi was one of the last to enter and sat down on the other side of the room, despite there being an empty seat next to Wolfe. He tried not to feel too slighted.

“This will be your first practical lesson on Translation,” Contos said once she had everyone’s attention. “Since you all should have studied the theory of this crucial Library task—“ she paused to stare pointedly around the room “—I assume you all know what to do.” 

Wolfe did know what to do. In theory. He’d studied it extensively in preparation for the entry test, but he’d never actually attempted it before.

“In case some of you have forgotten, and in the interest of safety, I have outlined the main steps here.” Contos tapped the blackboard behind her, where the steps were written in neat, cursive writing. 

Wolfe didn’t bother reading them closely, he doubted there was anything there he didn’t already know like the back of his hand. Instead, he surreptitiously glanced over at Santi, who was studying the board with narrowed eyes. Wolfe was confident that Santi knew enough about Translation to get by, but last night had revealed some of Santi’s insecurities. If Santi wanted the reassurance of double-checking the board, Wolfe wasn’t going to judge him.

“You will find a box of tags in your desk drawer. As you are only beginners, do no more than three in a row before resting. Remember, in the rare instance a title cannot be found in your Codex, you must add it manually. You can start whenever you are ready.” Contos slid on her reading glasses and opened her Codex.

There was a flurry of activity as postulants pulled out their tags and started clipping them to books. Wolfe pulled out his tags and grabbed the top book on his pile. The title already existed in the Codex, so Wolfe was able to activate it quickly. Despite knowing exactly what would happen, feeling the book vibrate and then disappear from his hands still startled him. He could feel the energy pulsing through him as it dematerialised, but it was only a very brief sensation. A tingle in his fingers that lingered for a few seconds, then nothing.

Wolfe grabbed and translated the next book on his pile, and the one after that. The only real side effect he experienced was a slight twinge in his head, which soon faded away. Some of his classmates looked much worse for wear, massaging their temples and taking long, slow breaths. Across the room, Santi was still clipping a tag to a book. 

“Do we have to take a rest? Or can we keep going if we want to?” Wolfe asked Contos. She regarded him with interest, but not great surprise. 

“You may continue if you feel you are able to, Postulant Wolfe. Just be careful not to overdo it.”

Wolfe nodded and added a tag to the next book. He continued a steady pattern: tag, Codex, activate, until he’d finished his entire stack of books. By then his head was throbbing and there were coloured dots dancing in his vision. His headache was coupled with self-consciousness as most of the class was now staring at him. 

“I think I need a break,” Wolfe grunted, feeling his stomach twist with nausea.

“Take a few minutes,” Contos told him. “Then when you feel better, I’d like you to try translating several at once.”

“How many is it possible to do?” Santi called out.

“Most Librarians and Scholars are able to do up to five at once.” She composed a stack of five books from her own desk and deposited them next to Wolfe. “That’s how many I’d like you to try when you’ve recovered.”

Wolfe waited until his nausea and headache had abated significantly before facing the new pile of books. He collected the correct number of tags and prepared the books for Translation. Activating and translating five at once led to the largest energy surge Wolfe had ever experienced. There was a moment in which his nerves were on fire and then a searing pain cut across his brain. Wolfe closed his eyes tightly and waited for it to subside.

“How do you feel, Postulant Wolfe? Are you ok?” That was Contos’ voice.

“I’m fine,” he replied. The pain was fading now, like the tide receding into the ocean. He opened his eyes and the room came back into focus. There were no coloured dots this time. “My headache’s almost gone.” 

“That’s good,” she said, relieved.

“Do you know why I was able to do so many?”

“Some people are able to withstand obscurial energy better than others. It is not always hereditary,” she said before he could ask. “But it is a useful ability to have under your belt.” Scholar Contos then directed her attention to the rest of the class. “Attempt one more set of three Translations before the end of the lesson, postulants.” She turned back to Wolfe. “I would advise taking the rest of the lesson to rest. Some of the effects linger for longer than you would expect.”

“Ahh!” Santi let out a loud groan. Wolfe twisted around to see him clutching his stomach, his skin a worrying shade of pale green. Wolfe had the horrible realisation that Santi was about to vomit. He dashed to grab a trash can from the front, and placed it on Santi’s desk. He was just in time; Santi bent over it and made an awful retching sound. Wolfe looked away, not wanting to feel sick himself.

“What did you do?” he demanded once Santi had finished.

“I tried to translate three at once.”

“Why?”

“I thought I could handle it. Guess I was wrong.” Santi tried to smile, but before he could manage one, he leant over the trash can again and heaved out whatever was left in his stomach.

“Postulants, consider this a lesson to you all. Never attempt more than you can handle.” said Contos, not unkindly. “Postulant Wolfe, please take Postulant Santi to the infirmary.”

“Okay, I need you to try and stand up for me.” Wolfe lifted Santi’s arm and wrapped it around his own shoulders. He pulled him to his feet, wrinkling his nose at the smell of vomit on Santi’s breath.

“Thanks for helping me, Chris,” Santi murmured.

“Well it’s not like I have much of a choice,” Wolfe said. “But you’re welcome. Let’s see if we can get to the infirmary without you collapsing.” 

Fortunately, the infirmary was close by. By now, Santi’s complexion had taken on a greyish tinge, and Wolfe wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

“You have to be careful with Translation,” said the Medica who’d shown them to a spare bed. “It’s important to know your limits and build your tolerance slowly.”

“I think we’re aware of that by now,” Wolfe said coolly while he helped Santi into the bed. The Medica tutted as she left to fetch some supplies.

“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?” he asked Santi.

“Don’t think so.” Santi let his head fall back on the pillows and closed his eyes. His shallow breathing began to slow and deepen. Wolfe sat on the end of the bed and started to unlace one of Santi’s boots. 

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your shoes off. You might be sick, but that’s still no excuse to wear shoes in bed.” He pulled them off carefully to avoid yanking on Santi’s legs and shoved them under the bed so no one would trip over them. The Medica then returned with a bottle filled with amber liquid.

“Drink this. It’s a potion that will help rehydrate you.”

“Can I rinse out my mouth first?” Santi asked. She handed him a glass of water.

“I probably should warn you that the potion will taste worse than anything you’ve just vomited.”

Santi retched a little. “Good to know.” He drank his water, and then the potion under the Medica’s watchful eye. Wolfe could tell he was fighting the urge to gag, but he finished the bottle without complaint. “I’ll leave you to get some rest for now, but you can ring the bell if you need anything.” The Medica looked pointedly at Wolfe. “Your friend can come back this evening.” 

“Can I stay?” Wolfe asked. “At least for a little while?”

“Only if you promise to be as quiet as a mouse.” Her eyes bored holes in his skull.

“You won’t hear a thing,” Wolfe promised.

The Medica took a tiny bottle out of her pocket. She unscrewed the dropper and placed a single drop in Santi’s mouth.

“That’s just to make sure he sleeps,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

When she was out of sight, Wolfe ignored the chair meant for visitors and sat down on the edge of Santi’s bed. Santi’s eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with his breathing. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, so Wolfe gently brushed it back.

“Why is your skin so clammy?” he muttered to himself.

“You didn’t have to touch it,” Santi whispered back. He mustn’t have been fully asleep yet.

“Go to sleep.”

“You didn’t have to stay either.”

“Too bad. I’m staying.” Wolfe covered one of Santi’s hands with his own and waited for him to drift off to sleep.

***

“Chris.”

The sound of his name pulled Wolfe from his nap. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and rubbed the crick in his neck; sleeping in a wooden chair was by no means comfortable.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked Santi.

“I just woke up. Didn’t expect to see you passed out here.”

“I wasn’t planning on falling asleep. I guess you were just very boring to watch.”

“The potion she gave me really knocked me out. I haven’t slept that well in ages.” Santi propped himself up on his elbows and yawned widely. 

“So you’re feeling better.”

Santi nodded. “Much better. I reckon I’ll be good to go when the Medica comes back. Did she come in while I was asleep?”

“Not that I know of.”

Santi sat up properly so he could stretch his arms above his head. As he did so, his shirt rode up and Wolfe averted his gaze, not wanting to go there again after last night. When Santi was done stretching, he reached behind Wolfe to ring the bell. They both settled into silence while they waited for the Medica to return, but it was a comfortable silence. Santi seemed to have let go of his frustration from this morning, and Wolfe was happy to leave it in the past. Their Medica came and checked Santi’s vitals before deeming him well enough to leave.

“You’ll be fine, just drink plenty of fluids and stay away from Translation for a while,” she said as she packed away her instruments.

“That’s not going to be difficult. It’s going to take a long time before I feel like trying again.” Santi climbed out of the bed and retrieved his boots.

“You’re fine to walk back?”

“Yes, Chris, I’m not an invalid.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Wolfe retorted, although he did concede that Santi did look steady on his feet.

Let’s just go.” Santi was practiced at ignoring his sarcastic remarks by now. “I need to shower, I feel disgusting.”

“I can understand why.” Wolfe made a start towards the exit, but it didn’t take long for Santi’s long legs to catch up.

“Chris?”

“What?”

“Thank you. For staying with me today.” 

“Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for me.” Wolfe didn’t hesitate before saying it, so he must’ve believed it. Santi made a small noise of affirmation, which Wolfe took to mean he was right.

***

Wolfe decided to take a shower himself when he returned to his room. His shirt was soaked in both his and Santi’s sweat, and his bones ached from sleeping in a chair. The warm water was a welcome respite. Wolfe let his body relax and his mind wander. 

He was glad that things were now okay between him and Santi. There was a moment where Wolfe was afraid of losing his one close friend because Santi couldn’t handle the level of vulnerability he’d shown last night. He’d observed other boys being fearfully protective over their masculinity in the past. Wolfe didn’t relate to them; being the orphanage’s punching bag tended to have that effect.

But Santi wasn’t like that, couldn’t be like that. Not when he’d let Wolfe all but hold his hand at the infirmary. And then he’d thanked Wolfe for being there like he’d meant it. Everything was going to be fine. _They_ were going to be fine.

A familiar sensation twisted in Wolfe’s stomach. Well, almost everything.

That sensation had been cropping up a lot recently. When Santi smiled, or laughed, or let his arm brush against Wolfe’s, it returned. Wolfe wasn’t completely naive, he knew what it meant. He just never let himself dwell on it for too long. Santi could never find out, he had enough on his plate already. 

He was getting a fresh change of clothes when his Codex buzzed from where it sat on his bed. Wolfe went to check the message and jumped when he saw who it was from: the Obscurist Magnus, Keria Morning.

Wolfe hadn’t expected her to reply so soon. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to reply at all. He had been hard and undeniably honest in his message to her. How could she reply to that? At the time, writing it had felt cathartic, but now the past had caught up to him in the form of her response. 

_Dear Christopher,_

_Thank you for your queries about my health. I continue to remain in good health. It pleases me to hear you are performing well in your training. I am sure you will prove equal to the task of becoming a Scholar._

_Love,_

_Mother._

_That’s how._ Wolfe read through her message three times to make sure he didn’t miss anything, before flinging his Codex down on the bed out of childish anger. It would have been better if she was angry at him, he would’ve accepted anything but her usual distant self. There was nothing of _her_ in it; anyone could’ve written it for her. He might have considered that a possibility if the reply hadn’t come from her personal Codex.

A year ago, Wolfe would’ve been grateful for receiving any correspondence at all from her. It certainly wasn’t an everyday occurrence. But he now knew that people who truly cared did more than send an apathetic Codex message every six months.

Wolfe bit back a sob; the cocktail of emotions he’d been keeping bottled up inside threatening to spill over. He hated crying over anyone, especially his mother. It wouldn’t change anything between them. But tears were already leaking out of his eyes and there was no way of stopping them. He thought back to what he’d told Santi last night. _Let it out._

***

Her reply was still buzzing in his mind the next day as he took a seat next to Santi. Contos had her back turned to them and the sharp sound of chalk on the blackboard soon filled the room. She liked to write an outline of each lesson on the board before they began. There was a harsh dragging sound as she underlined the heading. _Obscurists._

The buzzing in Wolfe’s head intensified. This was truly awful timing; he was looking forward to this lesson as a distraction, but it was looking to be anything but that.

“Welcome, postulants. Today we will be delving into the realm of Obscurists and their powers. Although none of you possess these powers, understanding them is integral to the operation of the Library, and I expect you all to pay very close attention.”

Wolfe understood everything about Obscurists all too intimately. He’d lived as one of them for many years. Nothing Contos could say would be new information to him, it would just cause painful memories to resurface.

“Let’s begin by seeing what you know already,” Contos said. Hands shot up around the room. Everyone was now vying for their place in the final six, this was no time to be shy. Wolfe’s hand stayed firmly by his side.

Contos pointed to a girl in the second row. “Postulant Stojanovski.”

“All known Obscurists live in the Iron Tower. The walls of the Tower are made from a material that helps to protect and preserve their power.”

_Not just protect it,_ Wolfe thought bitterly. _To control it._

Contos continued to ask questions and call on people, but Wolfe was trying not to listen. His mother’s words kept playing over and over again in his head. _Love, Mother._ That was a lie. There was no real love between them, just hollow words.

“Mothers—” Contos was saying. Wolfe jerked upright and was instantly back in the present. “—and fathers in the Iron Tower always hope to give birth to offspring that are gifted with Obscurist powers. They are, after all, dwindling in numbers, but the services they provide are essential to the Library. However, if the child is not gifted, they will unfortunately have to leave the Tower. Although necessary, this separation is very hard on the parents.”

_Fuck._ Wolfe squeezed his eyes shut. Contos made it all sound so simple when in reality it was a mess he was still trying to untangle. Separation was an understatement. He was a world apart from his mother. The Codex messages she sent were less than an echo of her. Each one said so little, so why was his mind refusing to let go of a single word? 

Something invisible was pressing on Wolfe’s lungs. The air was thick and suffocating, forcing him deeper into his own head. He felt trapped by both the past and the present.

Someone touched his arm. It was featherlight, but he jerked away from it like he’d been slapped.

“Chris?” That was Santi’s voice. He sounded worried. Wolfe opened his eyes to the word ‘Obscurists’ still written on the blackboard. He couldn’t be here any longer.

With his heartbeat thumping in his ears, Wolfe shoved his chair back roughly and ran for the door. There was a wall opposite the classroom door. Wolfe leant his weight against it. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor. His head was still spinning, but there was air out here. He took a big, gulping breath, and then another.

_I am sure you will prove equal to the task of becoming a Scholar._ More lies. Childhood trauma had now dashed that prospect away. He’d just left a class halfway through with no explanation, there was no way he’d be allowed to stay for another.

“Are you okay?” That was Santi’s voice again. Brown eyes and tanned skin came into view as Santi crouched in front of him.

“No.” There was no point in lying now. 

“Didn’t think so.” Santi shifted so that he was sitting next to Wolfe. “What she was saying about Obscurists must’ve really gotten into your head, huh?”

Wolfe shrugged.

“You can talk to me if you want. Or not. You were there for me the other night, it’s only fair I return the favour.”

“You should go back inside.” Wolfe didn’t want to bring Santi down with him. He wanted him to stay here, where he belonged.

“Contos sent me to check on you, I don’t think she’ll mind if I stay here.” He paused. “Do you want me to stay?”

Wolfe tried to say no, but a strangled ‘yes’ was all that came out.

“Then I’ll stay.”

Once that was settled, Santi didn’t try to get Wolfe to talk. He sat there, a silent but steady presence, listening as Wolfe’s breathing evened out. The vice around Wolfe’s lungs had gone, but there was still a gnawing emptiness inside him. 

“Being an Obscurist’s son,” Wolfe croaked, “is fucking shit.”

“It would be,” Santi agreed. Wolfe wanted him to agree. He didn’t want anyone to tell him it was okay.

“It feels like you’re no-one’s son. You’re unwanted. You’re less than no one.”

Santi’s jaw tightened. “I wish I could tell you how wrong you are and have you believe me.”

“I thought becoming a Scholar would change all that, but I still can’t outrun the past. I still can’t leave her behind.”

“There’s more to this than just Contos’ lesson, isn’t there?”

“I got a Codex message from my mother last night,” Wolfe whispered, like it was some great secret. “It was a reply. I don’t know why I sent her one in the first place. I’m used to them being ignored. They usually are.”

“Was it bad news?” Santi said slowly, with caution.

“No. It was no news. It didn’t mean anything. I don’t know why she sent it, maybe she had someone else do it.”

“Maybe she was busy.”

“She’s _always_ busy. Too busy for me. It would be easier if she never sent me anything, but she does and I’m reminded of what I could’ve had if I’d been born to different parents.”

“We don’t have to talk about the message,” Santi said in an attempt to calm Wolfe down. But strangely, Wolfe was more calm than before. The words were now out there, not just rattling about in his head. He couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist, that he didn’t feel that way, and there was an odd comfort to that. 

“You don’t make me feel like I’m nobody, Nic,” Wolfe said. It felt right to say it. He’d already come clean about everything else.

“Glad to hear it.” There was a proud smile on Santi’s lips. It was one of Wolfe’s favourite smiles, one he’d never gotten from anyone else. He shuffled closer to Santi and tilted his head so it came to a rest on Santi’s shoulder. His pulse quickened as he feared Santi would push him away. But if anything, Santi moved closer still. He lifted a hand and started to play with a lock of Wolfe’s hair.

“Why do you keep your hair so long?”

“To intimidate people.”

“Really?” Santi’s shoulder shook as he laughed.

“I don’t know, I like it this way.”

Santi dropped his hand, and Wolfe must’ve visibly deflated because a second later it was back in Wolfe’s hair. The feeling was undeniably nice. Everything about this was nice. Too nice.

“You should return to the lesson.” Wolfe forced himself to pull away.

“Are you sure? What will you do?”

“I’m going back to my room. Come find me when you’re done, this might be the last chance we get to spend time together.” As Wolfe spoke, he realised that saying goodbye to Santi would be the hardest part of leaving. 

“You’re not going to be kicked out, Chris,” Santi insisted.

“I hope not.”

***

It didn’t take Wolfe long to pack up all of his belongings. He’d rushed the folding of the shirts; they’d be a creased mess later. But that wouldn’t matter, not at the orphanage. He’d have less than two years there before he had to start paying his own way in life. He’d never get to be a Scholar, but there might be some low-ranking Library jobs he could apply for.

Wolfe jumped when the door to the bedroom slammed open. That had to be Nassar; Santi would’ve knocked. He set his bags down on his bed and made a move for the door. He sure as hell wasn’t going to spend any of the precious time he had left with Nassar.

But Nassar wasn’t letting him pass; his large frame was blocking Wolfe’s exit. There was something in his steely expression that left goosebumps running up Wolfe’s arm.

“Look, I’ll be gone by tomorrow and you’ll have the room to yourself.” Wolfe tried to duck past him but Nassar moved to stop him.

“You really thought you were getting kicked out?” Something in Nassar’s voice sounded genuinely surprised.

“Well I left class halfway, why wouldn’t I be?” Why was Nassar dragging this out? Wolfe desperately wanted to get out of there, but he was about half Nassar’s size so talking his way out was his only option.

“Because Contos has her biases, it’s as clear as fucking day. That’s why you’re allowed to stay despite your fucked up mental issues and I’m the one who has to leave.”

_Nassar was going home?_ Wolfe’s delight at that was only overshadowed by the relief that he was staying.

Wolfe mustered up the courage to meet Nassar’s eyes properly. They were deep, deep brown, almost black. Nothing like Santi’s warm honey-brown eyes. The left one was twitching ever so slightly.

“Contos isn’t biased, you just weren’t good enough. You never were. Sorry your parents couldn’t pay your way to the final six.” Wolfe’s voice was firm and steady, despite the anxiety he was feeling. Maybe that was because it was true. Nassar should never have stayed for as long as he had.

Nassar took a step closer, so Wolfe took two steps backwards.

“You’re a little bitch, you know that? Crying like a fucking girl in class because nobody loves you. The Library is gonna eat you alive.”

“I’m going to be a Scholar one day, Nassar. But you won’t. You’re going to be _nothing_.” Wolfe put as much force as possible into the last word. If anyone deserved to feel like nothing, it was Nassar.

Nassar made a growling noise, deep in the back of his throat.

“Why don’t you go and pack up your things now?” Wolfe said, with a mocking edge. He wasn’t expecting Nassar to obey him, but if he stormed out of the room that was good enough for Wolfe.

“Why don’t you go to hell?” Nassar curled his hand into a fist and swung back. Wolfe saw what was about to happen and ducked just in time. It was instinctive, something he’d sadly done before. But Nassar was faster than he looked and his next swing caught Wolfe by surprise. It was a vicious undercut that connected with Wolfe’s jaw and snapped his head back. 

Stars exploded in Wolfe’s eyes as he landed on the floor. A ringing sound filled his ears and the room blurred around him. He tried to call for help but the only sound he could make was a low groan.

“Chris? Are you in there—hey, what the fuck are you doing?” The blurry figure that could only be Santi pulled Nassar away. There was the harsh sound of a punch and then Nassar was the one who was crying out. The figure—Santi—came closer.

“Chris? Are you still with me?”

“Yes,” Wolfe slurred.

Wolfe felt his body being lifted from the ground—he was being carried. Santi had one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. 

“I’m taking you to the infirmary, okay?”

“Nic,” Wolfe murmured. He rested his head on Santi’s shoulder for the second time that day.

“I’m here,” Santi replied, holding Wolfe close. “You’re safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading as always. If you'd like to yell at me my Tumblr is also @ redscrollsofmalec


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfe suffers the aftershocks of his altercation with Nassar. Santi panics over a test that will decide his fate as a postulant while Wolfe struggles to deny the profound connection that has formed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, uni has been kicking my ass lately
> 
> Remind me to never promise to get the next chapter written quickly because I guarantee it will take five times longer.
> 
> But it's finally here so here you go!

The infirmary lights were too bright. Wolfe squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the throbbing in his skull. Voices around him were saying things he couldn’t quite decipher. There was the harsh sound of a curtain being drawn back and Wolfe felt himself be lowered down onto a bed.

Someone, presumably a Medica, pulled his eyelid back and shone a blinding light into his eye.

“... definitely has a concussion.”

“Will he be alright?” That was Santi’s concerned voice.

The Medica started to reply, but Wolfe was losing focus and her words kept escaping him.

Santi grabbed his hand and squeezed gently. Wolfe mustered up enough strength to squeeze back.

“Don’t go,” he tried to say. It must’ve sounded like unintelligible gibberish, because Santi didn’t reply.

He tried to lift his head, but a wave of nausea hit him and his stomach convulsed. He let go of Santi’s hand and turned away from him, fighting the urge to heave. The Medica held a basin under his chin just in time.

“That does tend to happen with concussions,” she said, wiping Wolfe’s chin with a damp cloth.

It all would’ve been so humiliating if Wolfe wasn’t busy dealing with the cramps in his stomach and the throbbing in his head and jaw.

Santi reached for Wolfe’s hand again, but Wolfe shook him off, not wanting to be touched. The Medica gave him a potion for his nausea, and he barely tasted it as he drank it. The lights were still too bright to look at; all Wolfe wanted was to fall asleep and wake up like nothing had happened.

“It’s okay, Chris. Just rest for now,” Santi said, his voice sounding far away.

***

“ _Chris,”_ came a soft whisper, tickling the skin under Wolfe’s ear.

“Chris.” A little louder this time.

Mmph.” The lights were still offensively bright. Wolfe drew his blanket up over his head in a vain attempt to block them out.

“I’m supposed to wake you up,” Santi said. To his credit, he did sound apologetic. But now that Wolfe was awake, the pain was back, and he wished Santi had let him sleep for a few more hours. Or days.

“Who said you had to wake me up?”

“Paulina.”

“Who?”

“The Medica who’s looking after you.”

_Of course Santi would be on a first name basis with the Medica._

“Does she enjoy seeing me suffer?” Wolfe peeked over the edge of his blanket. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but the lights were tolerable now.

“She said if you slept for too long you could get brain damage. Or go into a coma.”

“A coma doesn’t sound too bad.”

“How are you still like this after a concussion?”

Wolfe tried to think up an appropriate retort, but Santi moved on before he could.

“So do you remember anything?”

“I think so.” Wolfe furrowed his brow, but that made his head hurt more so he stopped. “I remember that bastard Nassar punching me, and I think I remember you punching him back, but that part’s a bit fuzzy.”

“Umm.” Santi cleared his throat. “I may have done that. Can’t say I regret it much.”

“I’m glad you did. I would’ve had a go myself if I wasn’t already on the floor. At least someone got to before he left.”

The conversation stilled, and Wolfe turned his head to get a proper look at Santi. There were worry lines etched into his forehead and there was a bandage around his right knuckles.

“Are you okay?” Wolfe asked.

“Me?” Santi looked confused. “I was going to ask you that. I suppose I’ll be okay when you’re okay.”

Wolfe thought back to his nervous breakdown earlier today. He’d been so overcome by emotion then, so lost in his own head. But now he didn’t feel much of anything aside from pain. Pain is a steady constant that doesn’t require much contemplation. You just have to accept it and get through it.

Watching Nassar loom over him had been terrifying, but Nassar was gone now. One obstacle out of Wolfe’s way. Nassar was gone, but he was still here.

“I’m okay,” Wolfe said. “I feel like shit, but I’m okay.”

“Good.” Santi smiled, and there were now crinkles around his eyes instead of lines on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

The curtain surrounding Wolfe’s bed and the visiting chair was ripped open, and in came the Medica—Paulina—carrying a fresh glass of water and her Codex.

“Good to see you awake,” she said to Wolfe. “How are you feeling?”

“My stomach is much better, but my head and jaw still hurt.”

“This will help with your headache—” she fished a pill out of her apron “—but I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for your jaw. It’s not broken, so you’ll just have to let it heal on its own.”

“How long will he have to stay here?” asked Santi.

“He can leave tomorrow if he continues to improve.” Her Codex buzzed and she checked it with a frown. “Really? Right now?” Seeing confusion on Wolfe’s face, she explained, “Scholar Contos is here to ask you some questions. If you aren’t up for it, I can tell her to come back later.”

“I can handle it.” He’d have to answer her questions at some point so he may as well get it over with.

“Are you sure? Contos will understand if you don’t want to.”

“I’m sure.” Wolfe let the corners of his mouth turn upwards to let Santi know that he meant it.

“In that case, I’ll go fetch her. Won’t be a moment.”

After Paulina left, Santi stood up and stretched out his long limbs.

“Do you want me to do the talking?”

“I can handle talking, Nic,” Wolfe said firmly. Santi had started to pace, which was doing nothing for Wolfe’s nerves.

“Sit down, would you? Everything will be fine.”

“What if Nassar tries to twist the story? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’d like to see him try to twist this.” Wolfe pointed at the angry bruise on his jaw.

Paulina returned with Contos in tow.

“I apologise for disturbing your recovery, Postulant Wolfe, but unfortunately incident reports must be filed.”

Santi stood up to give Contos his chair and resumed his pacing. Contos smoothed her robes down and readied her Codex.

“You are feeling better, yes?” Contos smiled placidly at him. “Paulina informed me that there would be no lasting damage, which is good news.”

“What do you want to ask me, Scholar?” Wolfe asked in an attempt to keep things moving.

“I am aware that there was an… altercation between you and Postulant Nassar. I would be grateful if you could tell me what happened?”

Wolfe told her what he remembered. He saw Santi open his mouth several times to interject, but close it again, allowing Wolfe to speak uninterrupted. When he got to the part where he was on the ground, Contos stopped him.

“Postulant Nassar complained about an injury of his own. Was there anything you did that could have caused this?”

“That was me,” Santi blurted out in a rushed voice. “He was going to hit Chris again, so I stopped him.”

“I see.” The tip of Contos’ stylus wiggled as she wrote quickly. “Well in that case—”

“You’re not going to punish Santi, are you? Wolfe said. “He did nothing wrong.”

Santi stopped pacing to stare at Wolfe with an odd expression on his face.

“Postulant Santi will receive no punishment from me,” Contos said firmly. “I believe both of you.” Her eyes softened. “I wish I’d had the courage to dismiss him sooner. Then perhaps this would not have happened to you.” She sounded so remorseful that Wolfe had the urge to reach out and comfort her.

“You can’t blame yourself, Scholar. You didn’t make him do it.”

“I suppose not.” She tapped her Codex to send off the report. “I will be having strong words with his father about this. The man will try to make excuses for his son, but I doubt he will be successful. Violence like this never goes down well.”

Wolfe tried not to think about the strings Nassar must’ve pulled in the past. Contos had a gold band, her words held weight. And Nassar was gone. That’s what mattered.

“Is that all, Scholar?” Santi asked.

“Yes.” Contos stood up from the visitor’s chair. “You’ll receive a modified timetable tomorrow, Postulant Wolfe. As for you, Postulant Santi, I expect to see you in class on time tomorrow.”

“Of course, Scholar,” Santi said begrudgingly, but he was smiling, presumably thankful that she wasn’t going to punish him.

Once she was gone, Santi returned to the chair and scooted it closer to Wolfe’s bed until the armrest was pressed against the side of the mattress.

“What are you thinking?” he asked Wolfe.

“I’m thinking that I’m looking forward to having a room to myself.” Sleeping in a room with Nassar was like sleeping in a room with a nest of vipers.

“Lucky you, I’m still stuck with Jonas.”

“That has to be better than sharing a room with Nassar.” If it came down to it, Wolfe would take his chances with the vipers over Nassar.

“No, but he does snore. Maybe I’ll have to sleep in your room so you don’t feel left out.”

Wolfe laughed weakly. He knew Santi was joking, but the idea wasn’t altogether unappealing to him.

Paulina returned, carrying a tray of food. “I’m surprised you’re still here.” she said to Santi. “It’s past dinner time, off you pop back to Ptolemy House.”

“Can I stay for a bit longer? I don’t mind skipping dinner.”

Wolfe frowned at him. He didn’t want Santi to go hungry on his behalf. 

As if to prove that he was serious about staying, Santi helped Wolfe sit up and fluffed up his pillows. 

“Alright, you can stay,” Paulina relented. “But just for dinner. And don’t tell anyone about this, the food’s only meant for the patients.”

“Thank you.” Santi beamed at her and she scoffed.

“I’ll be back with something for you to eat. Be good while I’m gone.” She set the tray on Wolfe’s knees and gave Santi’s shoulder a firm pat on her way out.

“I think she likes me,” Santi said.

“How unfortunate for her.” Wolfe took a bite of his dry toast. He thought privately that it would be hard for anyone to dislike Santi.

***

Wolfe was certain he knew all of the marks on the ceiling from memory by now. As well as every item on his bedside table and every crease on the visitor’s chair. Paulina had woken him up after an acceptable nine hours sleep, and he’d had nothing to do but memorise his surroundings since then.

The pain in his jaw had faded to a dull throb, so he didn’t even have that to focus on anymore. He wasn’t allowed to read or do anything productive. It was nearing lunchtime, and Wolfe could hardly wait for the food to come just so he’d have something to do.

He was also waiting for Santi to come visit. Everytime he thought about it (which was often), he felt pathetic and told himself that Santi had morning lessons. And even if he didn’t, he was under no obligation to visit Wolfe in the Infirmary. But every time Wolfe stared blankly at the ceiling, then the table, then the chair, he thought about how much he wanted Santi to be there.

“Knock, knock,” said a voice behind Wolfe’s curtain. It was Paulina’s; Wolfe hoped she was bringing him something better than plain toast. “You’ve got a visitor, love.”

Wolfe bolted upright, his stomach swooping with excitement. _Get a hold of yourself, it’s only been a few hours._

“Come in,” he replied back, trying to seem unbothered by the revelation. She swept back the curtain and there Santi was, half a step behind her. He had rumpled hair and flushed cheeks and his breath was coming out in short bursts. Wolfe couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“I ran the whole way here,” Santi said sheepishly. 

“Good. I’ve been bored to death all morning.”

“I’ll leave you both to it, then.” Paulina looked between Wolfe and Santi, and winked at Wolfe before leaving. 

Her wink rattled Wolfe, but he didn’t have time to unpack it now, not while he had Santi here.

“How’d you sleep?” Santi asked, settling into the chair. Wolfe trailed every movement with his eyes, hoping it didn’t come off as creepy.

“Fine. How was class?”

“We looked at some old books on philosophy and talked about why the Library is essential to humanity. Stuff you probably would’ve enjoyed.”

“And you didn’t?”

Santi shrugged. “It was alright. I’ve never really cared too much for philosophy. Why bother wasting time on things that just are? That you can’t do anything about?”

Wolfe didn’t want to argue with Santi on that one. He appreciated knowledge for what it was: knowledge. Santi was more practical, he liked knowledge he could use.

So instead he said, “Sounds like I missed out.”

“Don’t feel too upset.” Santi gave Wolfe a crooked smile and Wolfe’s stomach swooped again. “I brought you this.” He held up a Blank. Wolfe had seen him carry it in, but hadn’t thought much of it.

“You know I can’t read yet.” He was tempted to lie and see if Santi would forget that he wasn’t allowed, but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew reading would hinder his recovery, as irritating as his current situation was.

“I know. I thought I might read to you,” Santi said simply, like it was a casual thing for someone to offer.

The tips of Wolfe’s ears grew warm. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s the least I can do. Now lie back down and close your eyes so you won’t be tempted to read.”

Wolfe obeyed, settling back onto the pillows and closing his eyes. If he couldn’t look at Santi then he’d have to make do with listening to him talk in his Italian accent. 

Santi made a show of clearing his throat loudly. “The Republic, by Plato.”

Wolfe smiled at the familiar title. He’d read it before, many times, but it was the sort of book that could be read again and again without him getting tired of it.

“I went down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess…” Santi’s voice was pleasant to listen to, but there was no rhythm or cadence to it. He was reading Plato like it was an instruction manual, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Nic?”

“Hm?” Santi paused his attempt at pronouncing ‘Adeimantus’.

“Do you even like Plato?”

“Not really. I told you philosophy isn’t for me.”

“Then why are you reading his work?”

“Because I thought you would like it.” Santi made it sound like that was obvious.

“Forget Plato, I’ve read it before. Tell me something you like. A story. Anything. Just make sure you actually care about it.”

“Alright, I’ll try to think of something.” There was the sound of Santi putting the Blank down. Wolfe let his eyes open halfway so he could steal another look at Santi, who was biting his lower lip as he thought.

“Okay, I can tell you about the time I ditched a tutoring session with my friend Teo.”

Wolfe quirked an eyebrow. “Do tell.” He liked learning about Santi’s childhood.

“Well first, you have to understand, we were learning Greek.”

“What’s wrong with Greek? I was fluent in Greek and Latin by the age of twelve. Both great languages.”

“I don’t mind Latin, it’s more similar to Italian. And are you gonna keep interrupting my story to brag?”

“Fine, I’ll be quiet.” Wolfe pressed his lips together, then added quickly, “But I wasn’t bragging.”

“You were. But back to the story. Teo’s father and mine were business partners, so we did a lot together, including tutoring.”

Wolfe wondered if Teo had taken the entry test as well, but he didn’t want to interrupt just yet.

“So we both hated Greek. Yes, roll your eyes all you want, but it was torture for two thirteen year olds. And our tutor made it even more boring somehow; I think it was his voice. Before the lesson was due to start, we made a plan for getting out of it.”

“Why didn’t you just… not show up?” Wolfe asked. “That seems like a pretty simple plan.”

Sorry, smartass, but it wasn’t that simple. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a story. We were both working on the shipyard and Signore Lando, the tutor, came to pick us up from there. There was no real getting out of it at that stage, so we went with him and bided our time.”

“Where’d you do your tutoring? At your house?”

“Yes, in a study on the third floor.”

“Your house had three floors?”

“Yes, and that’s actually an important detail so keep that in mind. So something you should know about shipyards is that they’re crawling with mice. We try to get rid of them, but they’re small and fast and they breed a lot so it’s basically impossible. Fortunately for us, Teo was also fast and he managed to catch a couple and stuff them in his pockets.”

How did he manage to make them stay put?” Wolfe shuddered at the thought of mice scratching and wriggling around in his pockets. They must’ve really hated Greek.

“With great difficulty, I assure you. But somehow, perhaps through sheer force of will, he managed. We got back to the house and Signore Lando starts on his Greek lesson and then, when he’s looking the other way, Teo releases the mice.”

“And your tutor noticed them?”

“Not at first. Only after Teo jumped up and yelled ‘mice!’. The thing is, Lando is terrified of mice. And rats. Any rodent really. So when he sees that Teo isn’t lying, he goes white as a sheet and sprints out of the room, shouting for a sterminatore.”

“An exterminator?” Wolfe guessed.

“You know Italian too?” Santi said, impressed.

“Only a little,” Wolfe admitted. “But it wasn’t hard to guess what that meant.”

“I’ll have to teach you one day.”

“What? Italian?”

“Sure, why not? If you mastered Greek then Italian should be a walk in the park.”

“So what happens next? After your tutor leaves?” Wolfe wanted to know how it would play out, if they got away with it or not.

“Well we start grinning like idiots thinking everything’s worked out perfectly, but then we overhear Lando talking to the housekeeper, and she agrees to come and deal with the mouse situation. So we have the stupid idea of climbing out of the window. Now, remember that we’re three floors up.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t going to end well?”

Santi doesn’t confirm or deny anything. “So we’re three floors up, we get the window open, and I start crawling down using the drainpipe like a thief in my own house. And I get down fine, but Teo must’ve lost his footing or something because he slips and falls around the second floor mark. He gets a broken collarbone out of it, and I get to see Lando’s red face yelling at us from the window.”

Wolfe started to laugh. “Was it worth it?” The laughter made his jaw twinge, so he forced it down.

“At the time I didn’t think so. Our punishment was rounding up the mice we’d let loose, and that was no easy task. Then we had to write out handwritten apologies to Lando. I think that part was even harder. But now it makes for a good story, so I suppose it was worth it. Teo might disagree.”

“It sounds like you two were pretty close,” Wolfe said.

“We were. He was my closest friend back then.” Something in Santi’s voice sounded wary. Did the friendship end badly?

“Did he end up taking the entry test with you?”

“With me, no, he—” Santi hesitated. “Nevermind, that’s a story for another time.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Wolfe said, half expecting Santi to reassure him that it was fine and proceed to tell him anyway.

“Thanks.” Santi sounded relieved. Maybe something serious did happen between them. Wolfe didn’t want to make Santi uncomfortable, but now he was undeniably curious. He would have to wait for Santi to be ready to tell him.

“So that was the story. Teo’s collarbone eventually healed and Lando got replaced by someone much better.” Santi checked his wristwatch. “Lunch is almost over, I’d better go now or I’ll be late for afternoon classes.” He got up and gathered his things. 

“Wait,” Wolfe grabbed Santi’s hand to hold him back. “You’ll come back this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Santi gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll come here after the lessons are over.”

“Back to boredom,” Wolfe muttered once Santi was out of earshot.

***

If there was any upside to being alone in the infirmary, it was the fact that Wolfe had time to think.

That may not have been an upside, though, when Wolfe’s thoughts kept stubbornly returning to Santi and Teo. Who was Teo? What happened between them that Santi was so unwilling to divulge? Why didn’t he want to talk to me about it?

Wolfe was no stranger to keeping things private. He liked to hold past experiences close to his chest, where they were least vulnerable. But he’d worked so hard on letting Santi in, telling him things he never wanted to tell anyone else. He’d even told him about his fractured relationship with his mother and Santi hadn’t run away. He’d stayed put, a sturdy shoulder for Wolfe to cry on. So why wouldn’t he talk to Wolfe about this.

He just had to give him time, Wolfe figured. Pushing too hard would only drive Santi further away, which was the last thing Wolfe wanted.

He shouldn’t have told me that story if he didn’t want to answer my questions, niggled a small part of his mind. Wolfe tried to brush it aside. Wolfe wasn’t only entitled to what Santi was willing to give, it wouldn’t do to claim otherwise. He could be curious, yes, but he’d have to stay quiet about it.

All this arguing and counter-arguing inside Wolfe’s head took up the bulk of the afternoon. It was nearing five-thirty, and his stomach was beginning to growl. The food at Ptolemy House was far superior to infirmary food, so he was looking forward to dinner.

Footsteps, two sets of them by the sound of it, approached Wolfe’s curtain.

“I just have to do some final tests and then you’re free to go,” Paulina said. “And your friend is here to escort you back.”

Wolfe smiled. He only had one real friend, so Santi must be here.

“Was the afternoon any better than the morning?” Santi asked in lieu of a hello. Wolfe’s eyes were drawn to him, just as they were when he visited before. He wore the same shirt, but with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which did nothing bad for his forearms.

“Well I didn’t have anyone here to tell me childhood stories, so no. It’s been very dull.” Wolfe didn’t mention all the thinking he’d done since Santi had left.

“Out of the way, dear, and we’ll be done in no time.” Paulina muscled past Santi and wrapped a cuff around Wolfe’s arm.

“No reading, writing or studying for a few days,” she said without losing focus on her equipment. “And no alcohol.”

So what can I do? Wolfe thought miserably. He could lose at chess to Santi, but playing board games was probably forbidden too. 

“I think you’ll like being back,” Santi piped up. “Everything’s been better with Nassar gone.”

“What if I come back and make it worse?”

“You couldn’t be worse than Nassar if you tried.”

“Nassar? Is he the one that did this to you?” Paulina slowly let out the pressure in the cuff.

“I—yes.” There was no real reason to lie to her. If Paulina wanted to enact her own type of revenge, then she’d get Wolfe’s blessing. “But he’s gone now, thank the Gods.”

“Good riddance,” she said. “Best not to pick a fight with those sorts of people, or you end up like this.”

“I didn’t pick a fight,” Wolfe began, but he remembered verbally taunting Nassar until the latter had taken a swing. Did that count? “Well, I didn’t throw the first punch.”

“I didn’t think you were the punching type. This one on the other hand—” Paulina pointed at Santi with her thermometer “—definitely has some fight in him. Be careful it doesn’t come back to bite you.”

Santi held up his hands. The bandage on his knuckles was gone, but they were still quite l bruised. “I didn’t start a fight either, I only ended one.”

“You’re all done, love,” Paulina said. “You can go if you promise me you won’t get into any more scrapes. I’d rather not have to patch you up again.”

“Thanks for your help.” Wolfe bowed his head at her. Santi found him his shoes and Wolfe swung his legs out of the bed so he could put them on. His trousers were horrendously creased, but that knowledge barely perturbed Wolfe. He was getting out of here; he could change his trousers when he got back to his room. 

“Let’s not waste any time getting to the dining hall, I’m starving,” he told Santi.

They’d almost reached the bedrooms when they were cornered by a friendly face.

“Hey guys, good to see you back, Chris,” Jonas said. “I was actually trying to find you, we’ve just been given some information about the final task.”

“I don’t remember hearing anything about that.” Santi frowned.

“You were out visiting Chris when it was announced. We still know next to nothing about it, but we do know who will be judging it.”

“I just assumed Contos would be?” Santi said.

“No, the Artifex Magnus offered to judge it and Contos accepted.”

“The Artifex Magnus?” Wolfe’s eyes widened.

“How many Artifex Magnus’ do you know?”

“Shut up. Did he say why?” People with high Library positions never voluntarily interacted with postulants and their training. The Artifex Magnus must have a good reason for getting involved.

“No. He wasn’t here in person, someone came in his place. And they didn’t say much, just that he’d be judging us.”

“Does this mean that the final task is going to revolve around Artifex stuff?” Santi wondered. “Because that’ll make it even harder for me.”

“They didn’t say. All I know is that he’s judging.”

“They might give us more information in the coming weeks.” Wolfe hoped his concussion wouldn’t pose any additional difficulties for him. 

***

Wolfe was stretched out on a sofa in the common room watching Santi and Jonas play chess. Everyone had given him a wide berth since he’d returned so he had the sofa to himself. He wasn’t sure if it was because they felt sorry for him, or because they thought he’d somehow instigated the fight. They should know better than to believe that; Wolfe may wear a near-permanent frown, but he was far too scrawny to be throwing punches at people like Nassar.

There was an opened bottle of wine on the table between Santi and Jonas. Santi had procured it to celebrate Wolfe’s return, but had then realised that Wolfe wasn’t allowed to drink any. That hadn’t stopped him and Jonas from filling their glasses though. The alcohol had dulled their chess skills, but Jonas was still beating Santi at every round.

“How?” Santi complained after Jonas smugly announced his checkmate. He was generally a good sport, but this many consecutive losses would get to anyone. 

“If you’re sick of chess, why not play a round of _senet_?” Wolfe said, pointing at a vacant set.

“I’ve actually never played that before,” Santi admitted, already resetting the chessboard.

“Nor have I,” Jonas said.

“Really? Maybe it’s only played in Egypt.” 

“I’d be willing to learn how to play it sometime,” Santi said.

“I’d be happy to teach you, just not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Santi agreed.

Jonas let out a laugh. “Are you sure you want to move that there?”

“Santi groaned. “I hate you.” He turned back to Wolfe, who was hiding his smile behind his hand. “I bet you’re loving this.”

“Maybe.” Wolfe settled his features into his usual deadpan. “Maybe it’s nice seeing you endure what I had to.”

“That was different, at least you were improving. I’m never going to beat him.”

Jonas laughed again. “Best to admit that now, Santi. Ready to admit defeat?”

“Not yet. I’m not going down without a fight, Kwon.” Santi slammed his next piece down into a square. Wolfe shook his head to himself. Ridiculous, the pair of them. 

“Stop pouting, Nic, you knew he would win.”

“I’m not pouting.” Santi side-eyed Jonas, who was picking up the pieces Santi had thrown at him.

“Just let him have this. Sure, he’s an expert chess player. That’s hardly a marketable skill.”

“You’ll regret saying that when I play you,” Jonas called out from under the table.

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m recovering from a concussion,” Wolfe replied smugly. There were seldom few advantages to his condition and he was determined to take advantage of them.

“How long are you gonna use that excuse for?” Jonas asked.

“Until I’m bored of it.” Wolfe pushed himself up from the couch slowly to avoid dizziness. “I’m off to bed. To a Nassar-free room even, that sounds too good to be true.”

Santi stood up with Wolfe. “I’ll walk you there.”

“It’s just down the hall, I’ll be fine. I’m not going to collapse on the way.”

“Just give up, Chris, you’re not going to change his mind,” Jonas said.

Wolfe rolled his eyes and started walking, letting Santi follow him. His concern was flattering, but Wolfe’s bedroom really was just down the hall. Wolfe turned around when they reached his door.

“There, I made it, happy?”

It was Santi’s turn to roll his eyes. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? I just want to make sure you’re okay, is that too much to ask?”

“No, I guess it’s not.” Wolfe cleared his throat. “Thank you. For your concern.”

Santi touched his hand to Wolfe’s arm. “You sleep well, okay?” he said, and then he was gone. Wolfe lingered at the door for a moment longer before going inside.

***

Wolfe returned to Ptolemy House with a spring in his step. He’d had his first Artifex lesson since returning from the infirmary and was pleased to know that he hadn’t fallen behind. From the moment he’d been given the all clear to read again, he’d had his nose stuck in a book, except for the times Santi forced him to take a break. He was supposed to be taking regular breaks, but he could endure the headaches if it meant more time to read. 

With that in mind, he headed straight for the common room. If Santi and Jonas were there, he might be able to persuade them to take a break from studying, but if not, he was happy to just read. They had an important test on Friday that Wolfe was fortunately exempt from. The two postulants who scored the lowest would be sent home, and the rest would proceed to the final task. Needless to say, everyone else was taking it very seriously.

The stress permeating through the common room was enough to make Wolfe feel twitchy. All of the postulants were here studying in one form or another. Santi and Jonas were testing each other in the corner, a large stack of flashcards between them. Wolfe pulled up a chair and sat down next to them, but they didn’t acknowledge his presence.

“What was it you wanted me to look up? Clause six?” Santi asked, pulling out his Codex.

“Yes, and make sure you also look up the revisions proposed by Scholar Jaouhari.”

“You two need any help?” Wolfe asked.

“You can help by not distracting us,” Jonas said as he scribbled on one of the cards.

“Sorry, but he’s right. We only have two days left.” Santi held up a card. “Name the nine countries that signed the 1847 Pacific Trade Routes Agreement.”

Wolfe held back from answering while Jonas ummed and ahhed. He was fine to leave them be and read; that’s what he’d planned to do, and it was what he did best. 

Five chapters. Wolfe lasted five chapters before the urge to check on his friends overwhelmed him. It’d been hard work blocking out their conversation and not interjecting. He used to be much better at ignoring the world around him, but that was when he couldn’t care less about it.

The stack of cards was considerably shorter now, and they looked much worse for wear, with hunched shoulders (Santi) and bitten nails (Jonas).

He let himself watch Santi chew his lip while thinking of an answer for a moment longer. He knew the answer. He could help Santi out, but they’d made it clear that they wouldn’t actually find that helpful. Wolfe returned to his book with an effort.

This time, he only made it through three pages. Santi loudly exclaiming, “Fuck this,” may have played a part in distracting him, not to mention Jonas throwing the rest of the cards against the wall. 

“You know you’ll have to pick those up,” Wolfe said mildly.

Jonas raised his middle finger at Wolfe. “That’s it. I’m out.”

“Come on, you can’t give up yet. We still have so much left to study,” Santi protested.

“Don’t care. If I study any more today my brain will explode.” Jonas threw his bag over his shoulder and strode out of the room, the door banging shut after him.

“He didn’t even pick up the cards,” Wolfe said, because he had nothing useful to say right now.

“It’s okay, I’ll pick them up.” Santi made a strained noise and sank his head into his hands. “In a bit.”

Silently, Wolfe crouched onto the floor and began collecting the scattered cards.

“I said I’d do it.”

“It’s fine.” Wolfe shuffled the cards into a neat pile and placed them back on the table. “I think Jonas was right; you’ve done enough.”

“Not you too.” Santi made to grab the stack of cards, but Wolfe slapped a hand on top of them before he could.

“You’re over-stressed and frustrated. No amount of study is going to be productive at this stage.”

Santi looked imploringly at Wolfe, and he almost gave in and let him have the cards. But he knew it would just cause Santi more misery. He already looked so drained; Wolfe just wanted to breathe some life back into him. 

“You can have them back tomorrow.”

“So am I supposed to just sit here?” Santi’s beseeching eyes were gone, replaced by narrowed ones and a furrowed brow.

“I thought we could do something to take your mind off the test, maybe play a game or two of _senet_?” Wolfe had taught Santi the basics last week, but they hadn’t had a chance to play again since.

“ _Senet_? You want to play _senet_?”

Wolfe shrugged. “Why not? It’s as good a game as any—better in my opinion.”

Santi let out a derisive laugh. “Fine. Why not? Might as well relax and spend the rest of my time here playing games before I’m sent home.”

No need to be so dramatic. “Don’t talk like that, you’re going nowhere.” Wolfe kicked Santi’s ankle gently to drive the point home.

“You’re going nowhere,” Santi said under his breath. Wolfe elected to ignore him.

“Remember how to set up the board?”

“Sort of.”

Wolfe rolled his eyes and went to set it up himself.

“You can go first. Try to focus on the game and not on anything else.”

Santi huffed, but threw the sticks with a carefulness Wolfe wasn’t expecting. It was a good throw; Santi moved his first pawn confidently, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I knew you liked this game more than you were letting on,” Wolfe said. It was clear he’d remembered what Wolfe had taught him. 

“It’s not as good as chess, but I like it.” Santi picked up the sticks and held them out for Wolfe. “I like games with strategy.” 

“You’re good at strategy. You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for, which is why you’ll do fine in the test.”

All trace of a smile vanished from Santi’s face. “I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about it.”

“Sorry, you’re right. We should focus on the game.” Wolfe’s hand shook as he threw the sticks and one of them skittered across the table and fell to the floor.

Santi wasn’t looking at the board anymore. He was looking directly at Wolfe, which made Wolfe feel uncomfortably warm. He ducked under the table to pick up the stick and break their eye contact. He hadn’t meant to make things worse, but that’s what he’d done. 

“And you’re wrong,” Santi said when Wolfe emerged. “I saw you when we were studying. You were ready to jump in and correct us half the time.”

Wolfe frowned. Had he really been that obvious?

“Most of your questions are about minute facts and details,” Wolfe said, taking Santi’s accusation in stride. Some of them had been bordering on ridiculous; no one needed to know the colour of the wax seal on the West European Library Union Agreement. “The test is going to require critical thinking—strategy—which you have in spades.” He picked up a card at random. “You don’t honestly think they’re going to ask you about the Romanian National Anthem, do you?”

Santi rolled his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes still locked on Wolfe’s. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know definitively. I don’t want to get complacent and just accept my fate.”

“You don’t have to.” Wolfe pointed at the board. “Your turn.”

Santi opened his mouth and then closed it. He threw the sticks, analysed the board, and made his move. It was a smart move, one Wolfe never would have seen if it’d been his second time playing the game.

“See what I mean?”

“It’s just a game, Chris. They’re not going to put _senet_ on the test.”

“That’s not what I—never mind.” Wolfe nudged his pawn a few squares over, putting him just ahead of Santi. Time for a different tactic.

“If you want to focus on the game then let’s focus on the game.”

“Good.”

Wolfe sat forward in his chair and leant his elbows on the table. “Beat me.”

“Huh?” Santi paused just as he was about to throw the sticks. “Beat you at the game? It’s not that simple. Unlike chess, this game is based on chance—”

“—And strategy,” Wolfe finished. “So beat me.” He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled, knowing it would goad Santi into playing even harder.

“Fine.” Santi cracked his knuckles. “But you brought this on yourself.”

Wolfe had to remind himself that he was supposed to be making this a challenge for Santi, but it was hard when Santi’s newfound confidence was so distracting. He’d really taken Wolfe’s advice to heart, and had steadily decimated all of Wolfe’s chances of winning without breaking a sweat.

“Your turn,” Santi said, not sounding the least bit sorry for the aggressive play he’d just made.

“I always knew you were secretly a real piece of work,” Wolfe replied. It was a poor attempt at deflecting the truth—that he liked Santi’s proficiency for _senet_ a little too much.

“You told me to beat you.” Santi said with an easy smile, his eyes bright and alert. It was a far cry from how stressed he’d looked earlier, which meant Wolfe’s plan was working. “You regretting that yet?”

_Not one bit_ , Wolfe thought.

“Not yet,” he said. “And you haven’t beaten me; the game’s not over.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

Wolfe met Santi’s challenging stare and held out his hand. Santi placed the sticks in his palm, pressing his knuckles against Wolfe’s skin for a moment too long before pulling back.

He quickly shook the sticks and tossed them on the table in an attempt to quell the shiver working its way up his spine. Did Santi know what he was doing?

Santi whistled. “Good throw, but will it be enough?” He smiled encouragingly at Wolfe.

Wolfe bit his lip, feeling ashamed of his thoughts. This was just a competitive game between friends to Santi. It wouldn’t do to entertain false hope.

He tried to focus his attention back on the game and brush away thoughts of Santi’s warm smile and warm hands. An idea lit up in his mind and he slammed a pawn down on a square, knocking two of Santi’s down in the process. He eagerly watched Santi analyse his move, waiting to see if he would congratulate Wolfe or pretend to be annoyed.

“That’s wrong.”

“What?”

“Your move. Barring the fact that you knocked down my pawns—” Santi righted them again and continued “—you can’t move it to that square. If we’re playing by the rules you taught me.”

“You’re lying.” Wolfe leant forward and surveyed the board. His eyes widened. “Oh fuck me, you’re right.”

Santi rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to win by cheating. I know you’d want to win properly,” he said coyly. 

Wolfe scoffed and removed his incorrectly placed pawn, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face.

“You win then.”

“Why are you so happy about that?” Santi asked, looking more confused than pleased.

“I told you to beat me, and you did. So technically I was right.”

Santi laughed. “I thought you were being sarcastic.” He tapped Wolfe’s foot under the table, like Wolfe had done earlier. “Trust you to make sure you had the upper hand no matter what happened.”

“I didn’t want the upper hand,” Wolfe insisted. Santi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, not exactly. I wanted to prove a point. You just beat me at a game I’ve played for years and pointed out when I made a mistake. Any Garda squadron would be lucky to have someone with a brain like yours.”

He reached across the table to grab Santi’s hand and squeeze it. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

***

It was Thursday evening, and Santi was panicking.

He was wearing out the carpet by pacing in circles, and his breathing was ragged and uneven.

“Try to breathe slowly, Nic. In two-three-four and out two-three-four,” Wolfe said calmly.

Santi gave him a sharp nod and sucked in a mouthful of air. Wolfe kept repeating the pattern until Santi was breathing normally.

“I hate this part,” Santi said.

“What part?”

“When you’ve done all you can to prepare, but you don’t know what will be on the test. And your brain keeps telling you it’ll be all the things you didn’t study well enough.”

“Try focusing on the first part, the fact that you are prepared.”

“It’s not that easy.” Santi stopped pacing and tugged at his fringe. “I can’t not think about it.”

The window behind Santi told Wolfe that the sun had fully set, but there was still the faint glow of street lamps in the distance.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

“Now? Outside?”

“You need to lose some of that nervous energy, and there isn’t any better time to do it.”

“Where are we even going?” Santi asked, but he followed Wolfe down the hallway all the same.

“Not a clue, but hopefully we’ll end up back here.” Wolfe wasn’t planning on walking too far; he just wanted to get Santi out of Ptolemy House and hopefully think of something helpful to say along the way.

They were met with the sound of locusts chirping outside and Santi swatted at a mosquito on his arm. “Let’s walk before I get bitten half to death,” he said.

Wolfe was fortunate in that mosquitos tended to avoid him, but he was happy to set a brisk place down the path. He turned down the street that led away from the Iron Tower, though he doubted they would’ve made it that far. Best to be on the safe side.

Santi seemed to like walking fast. He’d taken Wolfe’s suggestion to burn off nervous energy to heart, and was swinging his arms in large arcs as he walked. It would’ve been comical if Wolfe didn’t know the reason behind it.

“Are you trying to imitate a windmill?” he asked. Maybe it was a little comical.

“Look around, Chris, no one’s here to judge us. If I want to imitate a windmill, I’ll imitate a windmill.”

“So you’re feeling better?”

Santi made a non-committal sound. “Exercise is good.” He grabbed Wolfe’s hand, prompting a sharp intake of breath from him, and swung their joint hands back and forth a few times. 

“Letting go a bit is also good.”

“So let go.”

Santi stopped for a second to look at Wolfe. The moonlight reflected in his eyes made it difficult to tell what he was thinking. He leant forward slightly and Wolfe’s heart stuttered. 

“Race you to that big tree over there.”

“What—no, I never agreed to this!” Wolfe took off after Santi. “I’m no good at running!”

“Too bad!” Santi laughed up ahead. 

Wolfe had no chance of catching up to him; his lungs were already burning. It wasn’t long before Santi reached the tree, but Wolfe decided to humour him and run the rest of the way. Of course this was what Santi had been planning when he’d looked at Wolfe. For a moment back there, Wolfe had almost thought…

“You don’t do much exercise, do you?” Santi said, annoyingly not out of breath.

“I exercise my brain. My body, not so much.”

“Your brain is part of your body, so you should really exercise all of it.”

“My brain and my body maintain a healthy distance from each other.”

Santi shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to change your mind.”

One day. Santi could still think of a future where he was here with Wolfe. That was a good sign.

“Maybe,” Wolfe said. He wouldn’t be opposed to Santi trying. 

After that, silence hung heavy between them, and the drone of insects was starting to drive Wolfe mad. He still hadn’t come up with anything earth-shatteringly useful to get Santi out of his head, but by now he thought he might not have to. Exercise and some quiet distance from Ptolemy House seemed to have been enough to get Santi back on track. 

“Ready to head back?” he asked. Wolfe would stay out all night if Santi asked him to, but he was getting cold and they both needed to get some sleep.

“Think so.” Santi checked his watch. “Yeah, it’s pretty late.”

Wolfe breathed a small sigh of relief. Together, they turned around and began retracing their steps back. 

“So this means you’re feeling okay?” Wolfe had to ask again.

“I’m okay,” Santi said, brushing his shoulder against Wolfe’s.

“The walk helped?”

“It did.” Santi hesitated. “And you being here helped too.”

Wolfe was taken aback. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t really have to. Being here was enough.”

Wolfe didn’t really know where to go from there. Santi’s words had sent his head spinning.

“Hey, remember what you told me? Don’t think too hard about it,” Santi said, sensing his hesitation.

“I’ll try.” This time Wolfe was the one who inched closer and let his arm brush past Santi’s.

The lights in Ptolemy House were out when they returned, apart from a small lamp above the front doors.

“They wouldn’t lock us out, would they?” Santi asked.

Wolfe tried the door handle. “Thankfully not.” The door creaked open and they tip-toed inside. They stumbled blindly down the corridor, trying not to bump into anything. 

“Chris?” Santi whispered when Wolfe managed to find his bedroom door.

“What?”

“Can I, um, can I stay here tonight?”

Wolfe felt his stomach swoop. That was certainly not the question he had been anticipating. “I—ah—I guess so? Why?”

“I don’t want to disturb Jonas, you know, with the test tomorrow and all.”

“Alright.” Wolfe didn’t have any clue as to why he was agreeing to this, but he was. “I’ll lend you some pyjamas.”

“Thanks,” Santi whispered back. “You know, for everything.”

***

Wolfe awoke to the sight of Santi’s brown curls splayed on his pillow. After cleaning the sleep from his eyes, he laid there and stared at Santi’s peaceful, sleeping form. He was a quiet sleeper; he’d barely made any noise all night, but Wolfe had still been all too aware of his presence. 

He wasn’t sure how he managed to get to sleep at all, but somehow he did. There was a good chance that Santi was there in his dreams too, although he couldn’t remember any of them. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It felt wrong, watching him sleep. Wolfe had been there when he was asleep before, back in the infirmary, but this felt different. He was so unguarded, all of the stress from yesterday gone. And he was in Wolfe’s bedroom, one bed over.

This was the first time Wolfe hadn’t hated sharing a room.

“Mmph.” Santi made a sleepy sound and rolled onto his stomach. Wolfe didn’t want to have to wake him, but he had the test this morning and he’d kill Wolfe if he let him lie in any longer.

“Nic.” Wolfe shrugged off his blankets and padded across the room to the other bed. “Time to wake up.” 

Santi didn’t respond, so Wolfe placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

“Mm.” Santi rolled over onto his back and blinked blearily up at Wolfe. Then the realisation of what day it was seemed to set in and his eyes went wide. “What time is it?”

“It’s okay, you have plenty of time,” Wolfe reassured him. “That’s why I’m waking you now, so you won’t have to rush.”

Santi sat up in bed and rolled his shoulders, Wolfe’s too tight shirt stretched taut across them.

“Is it okay if I use your bathroom to get changed? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course, go ahead.” Wolfe stepped back to let Santi get out of bed. He made a mental note to put the pyjamas Santi was wearing in the laundry hamper, so he couldn’t do anything weird, like smell them. 

Wolfe was able to persuade Santi to eat something for breakfast, even though Santi had said he wasn’t hungry. Santi was quiet as he ate, and he was quiet when Contos arrived to take them to the classroom where they would take the test. Wolfe didn’t know if that meant his brain had calmed down, or if he was just stewing silently in a pool of stress and anxiety. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Wolfe said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

Santi nodded once—a sharp jerk of his head. 

“Remember the _senet_ game?” Wolfe prompted.

Santi gave him a tight smile. “I thought we agreed that _senet_ wasn’t going to be on the test.”

“You know what I mean,” Wolfe said, confident now that Santi did know. “You’re going to be brilliant.”

Santi tugged Wolfe into a firm hug. “I hope so,” he whispered before releasing him. 

Wolfe waited until they’d all filed out of the room before exiting himself. As he headed down the main corridor and out of Ptolemy House, he sent up a silent prayer that he would be right.

“Postulant Wolfe.” 

Wolfe snapped his head up and searched for the source of the voice. A High Garda soldier was standing under the shade of a tree, his eyes trained on Wolfe.

“Yes?”

“The Artifex Magnus wants to see you in his office.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://redscrollsofmalec.tumblr.com) (wow I finally learned how to use hyperlinks how professional of me)


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